


19 Years

by shilo1364



Series: 19Years!verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone ships harry/draco, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mostly Epilogue Compliant, Mutual Pining, Next-Gen, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Harry, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Second Chances, Slow Build Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Triggers, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 53
Words: 88,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19 years ago, something happened between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy - but the only one who remembers is Draco himself. He plans to carry the secret to his grave, but his careful plan is soon turned on its head. It's bad enough that Draco is returning to Hogwarts as a professor, so soon after his divorce, even worse that his son Scorpius has befriended fellow first-year, Albus Potter. But when he realizes that Harry Potter, too, has returned to Hogwarts, newly-single, Draco fears for his sanity.</p><p>Meanwhile, first-years Albus and Scorpius navigate friendship, classes, and getting their idiot fathers together. They are joined by their mothers, Astoria and Ginny, retiring professor Minerva McGonagall, newly-minted professor Teddy Lupin, Headmaster Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, Lawyers Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger, a handful of scheming first-years, and the inimitable Luna Lovegood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Platform 9 3/4

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the drarry song edit [Unspoken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_2CGQLVRN-A)
> 
> Hogwarts Calendar on my tumblr [here](http://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/19years)
> 
> Appendices added with spells and calendar.

_Friday, September 1, 2017_

"He's here."

Harry hadn't realized he'd breathed the words aloud until Ginny's elbow buried itself in his ribs.

"Harry!" she hissed, "at least wait until your son is on the train before you start ogling Malfoy."

Harry winced, rubbing his side. Ginny's elbows seemed only to have grown sharper, over the past 19 years, and she never hesitated to use them. On him, mostly. Harry sighed. A quick glance at Ginny's pinched expression was enough to convince him that he'd best do as she said. He fidgeted from foot to foot, folding and unfolding a scrap of paper he'd dug out of his pocket, and tried to pay attention to Al's rambling. Ginny, bless her, had inherited Molly's penchant for warm, effusive greetings and leave-takings, so his abstraction wasn't immediately obvious. He mustered a half-smile for Al, a bit of hair-mussing, and that was enough affection for the eleven-year-old, who'd already suffered through his mother's embraces.

"Bye Mum, Dad!" he yelled, waving, as he darted toward the train. James had long-since run off with his friends. Harry sighed, remembering his own eagerness to be aboard, and patted Ginny awkwardly on the back when he caught her surreptitiously wiping away tears.

"He's so young, yet," she sighed.

Harry snorted. "No more than we were. Where'd Lil get to?" He peered around anxiously – the girl had a wild streak and was apt to be knee-deep in trouble whenever he found her.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "We left her with Mum and Dad for the weekend, remember? Honestly, Harry, Malfoy scatters your wits as much now as he ever did."

Harry felt himself flush. "I – it's not – I mean…"

"Oh, go on, then, before he gets away." She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Gin." He smiled sheepishly at her. "You really are the best."

"And don't you forget it. Go on, now." She shoved him gently forward.

Harry stumbled over a loose cobble, and it took all his concentration to keep from going down. When he was sure of his balance, he looked up, directly into the piercing grey eyes that haunted his half-remembered dreams.

"Malfoy," he breathed, even though there was no way the man could hear him, standing as he was on the other side of the platform. Yet he stood frozen in mid-step, eyes locked with Harry's.

"Oi! Harry!"

"Yeah, Gin?" he called over his shoulder, not daring to turn away. Malfoy would run, if he did – he knew it in his bones. He couldn't let that happen. Not again.

Ginny's voice floated back to him through the cool September fog, exasperated and faintly amused. "It's your turn to pick up Lil. Sunday evening. 6pm. Don't forget this time."

Harry snorted. "That was _once_ ," he called back. "Yeah, OK. I'll be there."

His eyes had never wavered, through the exchange, and neither had Malfoy's, though he looked faintly puzzled. Of course, they hadn't stared like this since their Hogwarts days. Since Malfoy and his mother had walked away from the trials, after Harry had spoken on their behalf. They'd walked slowly, arms round one another, heads bowed. Bent, but not broken. Harry wouldn't let them be broken. He didn't know why, then; only that he would do anything in his power to keep Malfoy from breaking.

They'd seen one another in passing, since, of course. Across the room at Ministry functions. Shopping, on Diagon Alley. Quidditch matches. Faces jumping out at one another from magazines and newspapers. But that was the last time they'd looked into one another's eyes. Until now.

Malfoy's heated gaze was doing strange things to Harry's insides that he didn't understand. That he'd never felt before – only he was beginning to suspect that he had. The churning, fluttery feeling in his gut was at once completely unfamiliar and desperately, achingly familiar – and most definitely tied up in Malfoy.

Harry's palms began to sweat, and he felt his knees weaken. He licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed nervously. He took a step. Two. Each one uncertain, hesitant, inevitable. Malfoy's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he licked his own lips. Harry broke eye contact long enough to steal a quick glance at those lips, not sure why he did so, nor why the tip of Malfoy's tongue made his stomach soar and drop like he was on a rollercoaster. He wasn't sure of anything, anymore, except his own name, and Malfoy's. "Draco," he whispered, and the name felt strange on his lips, and familiar. Like he'd never said it before, like he'd said it every day. Malfoy – Draco – blanched when he said it, and Harry was close enough now to see how rigidly he held himself, how his hands clenched, how his lips trembled.

"Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, then, breaking their link, and Harry nearly stumbled again. He took another step forward to compensate – a larger one than he'd meant to – and suddenly found himself so close that he could feel the other man's body heat. He clenched his own hands into fists, to stop them reaching out, plucking at and smoothing fabric, carding through hair, cupping Draco's jaw – things he'd never considered doing before. Things he didn't _remember_ doing before. But his body, it seemed, remembered. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent. "Draco," he whispered, and it was a question, a plea.

One heartbeat. Two.

Three.

Ten.

Harry's hand, stretched out without his knowing, trembled, hesitated. He didn't open his eyes. He couldn't – that would cement the rejection his body felt. And he realized that it would break him – it didn't matter that he didn't remember whatever it was that had happened between them. This would break him anyway.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His hand fell slowly back to his side – empty. He didn't open his eyes. He nodded, once, acknowledging the rejection for what it was. An ending. And even if he couldn't recall the beginning, he found that the ending still hurt.

Harry turned, slowly, and walked away. He didn't open his eyes – he couldn't. Not yet. He navigated the platform by his other senses. Most of the other people seemed to have gone, anyway.

He felt a few soft raindrops fall, running down his face in cold rivulets. A few more. He didn't bother trying to keep them away – they masked his tears, sliding down his face in a salty rain of their own. He lifted his face up, opening his eyes to stare into the sky, to catch the rain. The moment he felt himself pass through the anti-apparition wards at the edge of the platform, he turned on the spot, carefully not looking around, and apparated home.

* * *

"He's here."

Draco stopped, staring, knowing he should look away but unable, as always, to do so.

"Who's here, dad?"

"Hmm?" He looked down, puzzled, into the quizzical grey eyes of his son. "Oh. No one." He patted Scorpius' shoulder gently, wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck.

Scorpous sighed and rolled his eyes, unwrapping it again. "Dad. This is how the cool people wear them."

"And I'm not cool, am I?" Draco feigned hurt.

Scorpius raised one devastating eyebrow at him. "Dad."

Draco sighed, internally, wondering when his son had picked up that habit of his. Whether it had annoyed his father as much as it annoyed him.

Astoria smirked at them both. "Now, now, Scorpius darling, do try and be civil. Your father had a bit of trouble making friends, in school, and I would like you to attempt _not_ to follow his example."

"Hey!"

Astoria shot him a quelling look, tightening her hand on his arm.

Scorpius sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum. I'll try to reign in my sarcasm and not alienate the other kids."

She smiled at him and kissed his forehead. "That's my boy. Run along, now. It wouldn't do for a Malfoy to miss the train."

With a cheerful wave at the both of them, he ran off.

Draco watched him for a moment, feeling strangely nostalgic, then turned, frowning, as Astoria pinched his arm.

"Who's here, Draco?"

"I don't know what you – "

She sighed. "Darling. We may not be married any more, but I can still tell when you're mooning over that Potter boy."

Draco felt his ears turning pink, and he nearly choked. "I – what? That's ridiculous."

He turned back to look for Scorpius to avoid her knowing smirk.

"Hang on – is that…"

Astoria snorted in a most unlady-like manner. "Why, yes, I do believe our son has locked arms with the younger Potter boy." She shoved him lightly. "I did tell you, didn't I? We ran into him and his mother when we were doing some shopping this summer. They hit it off right away, and we've met up several times since, to chat."

Draco spun to face her, horrified. "No. No way. You and Ginny _Weasley_?"

Astoria smiled smugly at him. "Ginny _Potter_ , actually, as she chose to keep her husband's name after they split. It turns out we have quite a few similarities…"

Draco covered his ears. "Stop. Stop right there. I really don't want to know."

Astoria's laughter rang in his ears, her delicate apricot perfume teased his nose. "All right, darling. I'll spare you this time. I have to run."

He sighed in relief as he heard her heels clicking away behind him.

"Oh, Draco," she called softly, "I'd watch out, if I were you. He's headed your way."

Draco looked up in alarm, right into the startling green eyes of Harry Potter.

He struggled to breathe as Harry approached him, forcing his face into its familiar mask, willing it not to betray how much Harry's presence unsettled him. He was transported suddenly back to his Hogwarts days, where it felt like he'd spent every waking moment willing himself to hide how much the man affected him – had _always_ affected him.

And then Harry was there, inches away, and it took everything Draco had not to reach out and touch him. It nearly undid him, when Harry whispered his name. He stared, frozen, at Harry's hand, stretched out between them in supplication. He closed his eyes to remove some of the temptation, but it didn't do any good. He could still _feel_. But Harry didn't know – _couldn't_ know – what he was doing to Draco. How hearing his name on Harry's lips was his salvation and his destruction, all wrapped in one. He'd put up so many walls between them he didn't know how to take them down again. He didn't know if he could.

He opened his eyes again when he felt Harry's hand drop. Harry's eyes were closed, and his face – oh, Merlin, his face. Draco felt his heart breaking once more, in the same place it had broken all those years ago. Harry's face was crestfallen. For just an instant it was open, and Draco watched in horror as Harry's vulnerable expression crumbled, was replaced with steely resolve, cold mask slamming down over the features he'd memorized – loved – so many years ago.

Draco stood frozen as Harry nodded, once, mechanically, and turned to walk away, never once opening his eyes. He watched as Harry turned his face up to the rain, saw the raindrops running down his face, mixing with the tears, saw him spin in place and disappear.

Draco stood there on the empty platform, letting the rain plaster his platinum hair to his forehead, drip in icy runnels down his collar. He tasted salt on his lips, and wondered at the tears that slipped out of his eyes unbidden.

Draco hadn't cried in 19 years. Not since he'd wiped his lover's mind of all traces of their time together. Not since he'd broken his own heart to save the man he loved – so that he could save their world in turn.


	2. Granger & Parkinson, Divorce Attorneys Extraordinaire

_**Previously...** _

_Friday, August 4, 2017  
_

“Oh.” Ginny Potter stumbled slightly in shock, caught herself on the edge of the front desk. “It’s you.”

Astoria Malfoy raised one delicate eyebrow, quirked a sly smile. “So it would seem. I take it you and Potter are having marital difficulties as well?”

“Er, not really.”

Astoria quirked a brow, tilting her chin toward the shiny brass letters on the wall over the desk: _Granger & Parkinson, Divorce Attorneys Extraordinaire._

“Oh.” Ginny flushed. “Well, I mean, yes we’re getting a divorce. Have gotten one, I suppose – it’s all been signed now. But it was more of a mutual decision. We found that we’re… not as compatible as we once thought.”

“Oh.” Astoria smirked at her. “So you’re both gay, then.”

Ginny blushed furiously. “Shh! We’re not – I’m not ready for that to get out, thanks very much.”

“Oh, relax. Who’s here to find out? The assistant is taking her lunch break, and ‘Mione and Pans are no doubt having a quick snog in the back.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” Astoria said with a lazy wave of her hand, “Draco and I are splitting for the same reason. We stayed together for political reasons, and for Scorp. But now that he’s off to Hogwarts…”

Ginny smiled despite herself. “Yeah. Same here. Lil’s mature enough to deal with it, and the other two will be in school most of the year.”

“So…” Astoria’s voice softened, became almost hesitant. “…do you have plans for the afternoon?”

“Oh, I, uh, have to pick up Al from the library. Sorry.” She was surprised to hear a note of honesty in the apology. From Astoria’s face, she’d caught it too, and was just as surprised.

“Scorp’s there too – the library, I mean. We could go together? Take them out for ice cream? It would be good for him to make a new friend. He… doesn’t have many. I’m a little nervous, honestly, about sending him off alone.”

Ginny smiled. “Oh, that sounds lovely. Al’s shy too – he doesn’t make friends like his brother and sister do. I think… I think it might be good for both of them.”

Astoria winked at her. “Of course, it has nothing to do with me wanting to chat with another newly single, interesting – and potentially interested? – lovely woman. Or my ex-husband’s eternal crush on yours.”

She muttered the last bit, almost to herself, but Ginny heard it anyway. “Oh!” she said, blushing at the insinuation that Astoria wanted to spend time with _her_. She chose to ignore that part, and focus instead on the intriguing tidbit Astoria had let slip. “You don’t mean it’s mutual, then?”

Astoria started. “What?”

“Well… Harry’s been obsessed with Draco for as long as I’ve known him. I was hoping he’d grow out of it, but…”

“Well, well. Now that _is_ interesting.” Astoria linked her arm through Ginny’s, drawing her through the door and into the bright sunlight.

* * *

They found their sons in the magical creatures section, huddled together, surrounded by towering piles of books, dark head and light bent close, poring over a thick and dusty tome.

Scorpius looked up first. “Mum! Look what we found in these old journals!” His eyes gleamed with excitement, and Ginny recognized it as the expression she often saw in Al’s eyes: the delight of discovery. “It’s those creatures Luna told us about – the ones no one’s seen in a hundred years!”

Astoria bent over, obliging him, squinting at the spidery scrawl. The ink was faded – it was no wonder the boys were bent over it so closely. Scorp had rested his hand on Al’s shoulder for balance, when he looked up – she noticed in surprise that he left it there. Neither boy seemed to notice. She looked up at Ginny, shared a surprised and speculative glance. Malfoys and Potters had a magnetic attraction, it seemed.

“Al,” Ginny said softly. He looked up, sheepish, and grinned at her.

“Hi, Mum. Sorry I wasn’t out front – only Scorp had some ideas about those creatures Charlie told us about last visit, and then there were those plants Nev was going on about, and then we started looking for Luna’s creatures, and, well…”

Ginny grinned back at him. She couldn’t help it – Al was the least like her, of all her children, but he was also the easiest to love. She reached over and ruffled his hair. “S’alright, Al. I’m glad you’ve found a friend.”

He blushed, startling her. “Oh. Right. This is Scorp – Scorpius Malfoy. He’s here as much as me – we’ve been doing research together, this summer.”

Ginny looked up at Astoria and shook her head. It seemed their intervention wouldn’t be necessary after all.

Astoria winked at her. “I’d still like to spend time with you,” she mouthed.

Ginny blushed. “Right. Er. Let’s get these books picked up, boys – are these really _all_ yours? – Astoria and I are taking you out for ice cream.”

“Really?” Both boys turned identical grins on their mothers.

Astoria smiled. “Really. We’ll take it to the park to eat – it’s lovely out today, and summer’s nearly over.”

Scorpius nudged the other boy, and Al blushed. “Oh. Right. Er… it’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy.

Astoria laughed. “It’s good to meet you, too, Al. Please call me Tori – I’m not Mrs. Malfoy any longer.” She shot a look at Ginny. “You too, Mrs. Potter.”

Ginny felt herself blushing even more. “I – call me Gin,” she choked out. “You, too, Scorpius. I’m honored to have the pleasure of meeting a friend of Al’s.” She stared into Astoria’s eyes, for a long moment, and so they both missed the sly look that passed between their boys before they scrambled to put away their books.

* * *

“Fancy seeing you two again,” Hermione said, steepling her fingers in front of her stylish new glasses.

“Indeed,” Pansy drawled, draped elegantly across Hermione’s lap on the loveseat in their shared back office. “What can we do for you? Your husbands – or should I say, ex-husbands – have been by to sign everything. You’re free women, now.”

Ginny looked nervously at Astoria, biting her lip. Astoria took her hand and squeezed gently. “Actually,” she said, as Ginny drew a calming breath, now that Astoria had taken the lead, “we’re here about our _ex_ -husbands.”

Pansy raised a manicured brow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Ginny jumped in determinedly. “We’ve been talking, Tori and I - ” She paused as Hermione and Pansy shared a delighted look – “ahem. As I was saying. We’ve realized that we have a lot more in common than we knew.”

“Yes,” Pansy drawled, “newly-divorced and newly-out lesbians. And now you want advice on your relationship from the experts?”

Even Astoria blushed that time. “No,” she said faintly.

Hermione cuffed Pansy lightly. “Stop it, Pans. You’re just being wicked. You _know_ they’re not here about themselves.”

Pansy sat up, suddenly interested. “Oh. _Oh._ You know, then. About your husbands.”

“No,” Ginny said quickly. “Well, we’ve guessed. There has to be something there – they’ve been obsessed with each other since they were at Hogwarts…”

“Yes,” Pansy agreed, all business now. “Since they were eleven. I know.”

“Well why haven’t you _done_ something, then?” Astoria burst out.

Hermione was the one to raise her eyebrow, this time. “You were married, Tori – you all were,” she said gently. “What were we supposed to do?”

“But now…” Ginny trailed off uncertainly.

Hermione grinned wickedly. “Oh, yes. But now, indeed. Don’t worry girls – we have a plan.”

“We want in.” The words burst out of Ginny, surprising them all.

Astoria quickly nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. They may be loveable idiots…”

“But they’re _our_ loveable idiots,” Ginny finished fiercely.

Hermione and Pansy shared a speculative look, then nodded. “If you’re sure, then yes. We could absolutely use your help. Here’s what we’re planning…”


	3. Fancy Meeting You Here

_Friday, September 1, 2017_

Harry reappeared in the study at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, where he’d been living since moving out of the house he’d shared with Ginny for nearly two decades. Though, if he were to be honest with himself, that house hadn’t been home in… well, a while, anyway. He’d moved the things that mattered most to him here, over the years, as _their_ house became Ginny’s and the kids’… as Harry was slowly displaced from what he’d hoped to make the center of his world. He laughed hollowly, tears drying on his cheeks, wet streaks remaining where the occasional tear still slid slowly out, trembling on his lashes for the briefest instant, then following its predecessors down, tracing out the years of his secret grief.

He’d tried to live, after the war. He really had. But he could never muster the energy, the enthusiasm for life that everyone around him seemed to have. He always felt like there was something… missing. Some secret, vital thing that, if he could only find it, would bring color and light to his life. It took him years to realize that he was the only one fumbling blind in the dark. That everyone else had grieved those they had lost, picked up the pieces, moved on with their lives. He’d become resigned to it, eventually. It made a twisted kind of sense, he supposed. He’d died twice already – what right did he have to life, after that? It was a miracle he was still clinging to a semblance of life at all.

He trailed his fingers over the objects littering the desk, the mantle. So few objects, a smattering of trinkets to mark a life never really lived. He knew them all, every contour, every flaw. He stopped, fingers closing abruptly round the object they still touched. He didn’t bother to check what he held – he didn’t care. They were meaningless, anyway. Empty. Like his joke of a life. He whipped around, hurled the object into the brick fireplace, where it shattered with a gratifying crash. He cast a careless reparo, waiting for the pieces to jump into his hand, reassemble themselves, then flung it once more into the flames.

It amused him, for a while. Far longer than it should have, he supposed. But he was empty. Numb. He craved destruction with everything he had. Never in his life had he wanted more to die. He, who had brushed hands with death so many times. He fell into a hypnotic rhythm, lulled by the crackle of the flames, the crash and shatter of the pieces of his past breaking, being repaired, breaking… over and over again.

When reparo failed, when the shards of whatever-it-was only trembled when he cast, he shrugged, grasped blindly behind him for the next object.

And then the next. And the next.

When he’d run out of reminders of his past, he sank to the ground, head in his hands, despairing, mourning. Then he rose to his feet, face settled into the worn lines of its familiar mask, and moved to his bedroom – the only other room in this forsaken house he’d bothered to inhabit. He stopped in the doorway, stared blindly at the empty trunk awaiting him, then whisked everything in the room into it with a quick flick of his wrist. Another careless flick shut and locked it, shrunk it, lightened it. He scooped it up under his arm, cast one last glance about the empty room, and apparated.

* * *

He reappeared outside the gates of Hogwarts – the one place he had ever truly felt at home. He reached out, touched the gate with one hesitant finger, remembering. Willing himself to grasp the tantalizing edges of memory, to find himself – his life – again. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal, trying to draw the quiet peace of it into his bones. Then the gate opened silently before him, and he stumbled slightly. He heaved a quiet sigh, and stepped forward into the familiar unknown.

It was time to face his future.

* * *

 McGonagall met him at the door, and he had to choke back a sob, or perhaps a laugh, he wasn’t sure which it would be, if he let it out. But he didn’t, and McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow at him. She looked older, certainly, than she had in his youth. He supposed he probably did, too. He remembered suddenly a conversation half-overheard at some Weasley gathering – that she’d been semi-retired, lately, and had only returned to mentor the newly-minted graduate she’d chosen as her successor. He wondered idly who it was, but the brief flicker of interest soon faded, and he stared blankly at her once more.

Her features sagged a bit, as he stared at her, and she shook her head at him. “You, Mr. Potter, look older than I feel, and I’m afraid I’ve quite a few years on you yet.”

He tried to dredge up a smile for her, but her eyes told him that it was a pitiful attempt. She sighed. “Come on then, Harry. I’ll show you to your rooms. You won’t have time to unpack now, I’m afraid – the dinner will start soon.

Harry nodded. He didn’t much care when or if he unpacked his few belongings. His fingers slipped into his pocket, worried the worn strip of paper he found there. McGonagall, realizing, perhaps, that he wasn’t going to say anything, turned with a swish of her robes and led him down a hall he’d never ventured down. There were nameplates beside the doors; he didn’t bother reading them. He had no interest in his colleagues, in which room belonged to whom. He wanted only to find a quiet place to rest, to sink into the oblivion that threatened, pounding at his temples like crashing surf.

McGonagall held out her hand, stopping him, and he realized they’d arrived. The door was blank, unassuming. He felt a strange affinity for it. The small nameplate beside it read H. Potter, DADA Professor, Head of Gryffindor House.

McGonagall opened the door wordlessly, handed him the key she’d used to unlock it. “Be in the Great Hall in half an hour, Mr. Potter.”

He nodded absently, then realized she was already striding down the corridor, robes swirling about her feet. He walked into his room for the foreseeable future – small, plain, bare – dropped his trunk onto the ground, idly returning it to its normal size and weight, and then collapsed bonelessly onto the narrow bed. He waved his wand lazily as an afterthought, casting a quick tempus and keying it to chime in twenty minutes. Then he closed his eyes, let his head sink onto the pillow, and welcomed oblivion.

* * *

 Twenty-nine minutes later, he arrived at the empty seat at the head table, panting slightly, hair mussed and robes rumpled. He didn’t bother to look at the faces surrounding him. His youngest son was out there, he knew, beyond the closed doors, waiting to be sorted; the other sat with his friends at the Gryffindor table. He didn’t bother to look for either. He would see them soon enough.

Then a strained, slightly hysterical, and all too familiar voice came from the place directly across from him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!"

Harry thought he might cry again. Or laugh. He seemed to have forgotten how to tell the difference. He wondered idly when he’d last done either, before today, as he raised his eyes to meet furious grey ones. “Hello… Malfoy. Fancy meeting you here.”

The fire he saw in those eyes kindled an answering fire in his soul that he’d long forgotten. He relished it, the burning intensity. Yes. Perhaps he _could_ learn to live again, if only to bait Malfoy. Malfoy, who had always, _always_ , gotten under his skin as no one else could.

He wondered, not for the first time, if the fates were laughing at him, seeing how far they could push him before he snapped. He realized, with a start, that he didn’t care. For whatever reason, Malfoy was the only one who could bring fire and passion back into his life. And if the only emotion he was capable of turned out to be hate, well… it was still fire. Still life. And Harry found that, after all, he wasn’t ready to give up on living yet.


	4. Better Be... Hufflepuff!

_Friday, September 1, 2017_

Minerva McGonagall sat at the Head Table with the others, though her position now was merely to advise the young man beside her. Teddy Lupin, freshly graduated from Hogwarts himself, had agreed, after much convincing by herself and Headmaster Longbottom – Minerva suppressed a chuckle, as she always did when thinking about hapless Neville Longbottom as Headmaster, never mind that he was proving to be more than competent – to accept the position of transfiguration professor and head of Hufflepuff House.

Of course, he'd been easy to convince. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, though... She grimaced as she recalled their interviews. At least their legendary rivalry would be Neville's to manage now. She didn't envy him in the least. Harry and Draco sat farther along the table, alternately glaring daggers at one another and ignoring one another completely. She shook her head. She'd never doubted Hermione's intellect until the girl had shown up in her office, demanding she hire the two rivals, swearing their years of rivalry had stemmed from unacknowledged attraction and even a secret relationship. Minerva had lost her calm mask at that point, dissolving into hysterical laughter whilst Hermione glared and tapped her foot pointedly. That she had Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass, and Ginny Weasley backing her up…

Minerva sighed, then shook her head when Teddy turned a questioning glance her way. It was bad enough that Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson– the cleverest and most cunning witches Hogwarts had ever seen – had joined forces. The combination of Ginny Potter, nee Weasley and Astoria Malfoy, nee Greengrass – pranksters and schemers who, Minerva personally thought, rivaled the infamous Weasley twins in deviousness – was, quiet frankly, terrifying. If Potter and Malfoy ever teamed up and turned the fire of their rivalry against the world… well. It didn't bear thinking about.

She glanced at the men in question and rolled her eyes. Two _professors_ , _Heads of House_ , even, and they were glaring at one another like schoolboys. She watched them, fascinated, as her brain helpfully provided an overlay of seven years of glares. That they glared across the Head Table, now, instead of across their respective House tables, over the heads of their classmates, didn't change anything. The years fell away from their faces, and they were once again two boys embroiled in a bitter rivalry.

She felt a sudden desire to smack the both of them over the back of the head, then drag them off by their ears – which she had done to each of them, before, when they were students – and stick them into a broom closet until they resolved whatever issues were consuming them. She fervently hoped they could learn to work together – or at least tolerate one another. She was sick of petty rivalries between the DADA professor and potions professor… between Gryffindor and Slytherin. She might love her house, but she held no illusions about its culpability in that feud. The feud that, she suspected, had its roots in the two men who glared daggers at one another just down the table.

Minerva sighed heavily, then patted Teddy on the shoulder. "Good luck, dear," she whispered, "I think you'll need it."

Teddy just winked at her. "Don't worry – Hermione and Pansy have a plan."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Yes. That's what I'm worried about."

Minerva was startled out of her thoughts when Neville's magically enhanced voice echoed through the Great Hall, announcing the name of the first child waiting to be sorted.

The child stepped up to the stool at the center of the hall, trembling slightly. She took a fortifying breath, then hopped up onto the stool, lowering the hat gingerly onto her head. She closed her eyes tight, screwing up her features, and jumped slightly as the Hat shouted: "Gryffindor!" She hopped down, gently set the hat back on the stool, then skipped over to the Gryffindor table, where a seat opened for her. She was quickly hidden from view, as the Gryffindors closed ranks around her, with much back slapping and friendly hugs. Minerva smiled fondly, remembering. She would always have a soft spot for Gryffindor, no matter how she tried to love each House equally. Gryffindor was her home – always had been, and always would be.

The next sortings passed in a blur as she thought back on her many years as Gryffindor's Head of House. "Slytherin. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff. Slytherin. Gryffindor…."

"Scorpius Malfoy."

There was a collective indrawn breath, as the small, pale boy hesitated, then ducked his head and hurried to the stool.

" _Merlin_ ," Minerva breathed, "I'd forgotten his son would be here."

Teddy shot her a questioning look. "He's quite nice, actually. Shy, but friendly. He and Al have been getting close, this summer."

"Albus?" Minerva stared. A Malfoy and a Potter? Surely not…

"Hufflepuff!" the Hat boomed. And the Hall went deathly silent, as every whispered conversation halted abruptly.

Scorpius slipped off the stool and slunk over to the Hufflepuff table, head bowed. He didn't look at his father.

Minerva glanced at Draco, and felt her mouth drop open at the look of compassion, understanding, and love on his face. He'd known, she realized. He'd known, and he accepted it. Perhaps he _had_ changed.

Scorpius looked up then, and caught his father's gentle smile. The worry lines cleared off his forehead, and he grinned hesitantly back. Then he turned back to his new housemates and began talking quietly to them. The whispered conversations resumed, and the preternatural stillness was broken.

It returned when Albus Potter's name was called.

Minerva felt her mouth drop open once again as the hat called "Hufflepuff!" and Albus practically ran to the table. Scorpius wrapped him in a one-armed hug, ruffled his hair fondly, and continued his conversation. Al joined in happily after a jaunty wave toward his father. Minerva turned to Harry, and smiled involuntarily as she caught the amused, resigned smile he wore.

Well. Perhaps they'd all grown up.

She didn't notice the rest of the sorting – she was too busy watching Malfoy and Potter dance around one another – both sets of them. Al and Scorpius were clearly friends, and maybe more. They were closer than boys their age tended to be, seemingly more prone to physical gestures of affection. Harry and Draco spent the dinner staring at one another, pretending they weren't, taking turns looking away. She was reminded again of countless dinners over the years where they'd done the same, sending covert glances across the tables. Perhaps Hermione wasn't so far off after all.

Looking down at Hogwarts' newest Malfoy-Potter pair, their small heads, pale and dark, bent together over some book as they laughed fondly together, hands still clasped under the table, Minerva was hit with a wave of nostalgia, of might-have-beens. She remembered the gossip, that first night, that Potter had refused Malfoy's friendship, good riddance. The clumsily-masked hurt she'd seen in Draco's eyes that night, but discounted - he was a _Malfoy_ after all - and wondered. She looked back through the clearer eyes of memory, probed beneath the the anger and hostility in all those gazes. Perhaps... She turned, looked again at Harry and Draco, engaged now in a childish staring contest, and there it was. In the green eyes and the grey. There was anger, yes, and pain, and betrayal. The hurt was more skillfully masked, now, but it was there. And under it all... She sighed, turning back to her food. Yes. She could see it now - the desperate, hungry longing that lurked in both pairs of eyes. And she had no idea what to do about it.

She turned to Teddy, to say - well, she wasn't sure what she would say, come to think of it. What she _could_ say. But he smiled at her, flicked his eyes to the stubborn pair, turned the smile into a smirk. Then he turned back to his conversation with Neville, and Minerva felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Well. He knew, and presumably had some plan. Perhaps she could leave this - and all the other burdens that had fallen to her, over the years - on his younger and considerably broader shoulders. One couldn't correct the mistakes of the young forever, after all. She felt the first taste of a quiet peace, and began to eat, savoring her food as she seldom gave herself leave to do. She was getting old - it was time to turn the world over to the next generation. She was finally, she decided, ready to retire.


	5. Touché

_Friday, September 1, 2017_

"Be in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stared for a moment at the empty walls. He turned to his trunk, waiting beside the bed, and shrugged. His mother's charms would keep his robes pristine no matter how long they lay in the trunk, and he was tempted to leave everything packed so he could escape in a hurry in case this all turned out to be a colossal mistake. He wasn't convinced, yet, that it wasn't.

He closed his eyes, feeling the emptiness of the room - of his life - press in on him. He snorted mirthlessly, realizing that he missed Astoria, her light and laughter. For one aching instant he allowed himself to remember basking in Astoria's presence as it radiated out to fill the manor, once his parents had...

He sighed, opening his eyes. But that was in the past. He and Astoria had good reasons for splitting - better, in the end, than the reasons to stay. Theirs had been a typical pure-blood marriage of convenience, to cement loyalties, beget an heir. He supposed he was lucky, in a way. They'd been strangers, at first. Hardly unusual, in those circumstances. They'd come together to create Scorpius - the one good thing Draco had ever done, the one thing he could be proud of - and then faded back into their separate lives. They nodded when they passed one another in the hall, managed a civil conversation now and then, discussed the care and raising of their son. He'd favored men; she'd preferred women. He'd occasionally wondered if his parents had chosen her for that reason - if, in their way, they were trying to ensure his happiness. As much happiness as one could expect, governed by the rigidity of the Pureblood customs. Certainly their similarities had let them coexist peacefully - unlike Blaise and his harpy of a wife. They'd even become friends, of a sort. They'd had to, when the world turned away from them.

Their parents had been killed in a wave of anti-Death-Eater furor, not long after they'd married. The Aurors had assigned protection details, but... well. He'd never been convinced they could trust all the Aurors. Certainly his parents' had been mysteriously absent, that afternoon. And Astoria's parents - never on Voldemort's side, staunch supporters of Dumbledore, in fact - had been caught up in it. Because of him...

Draco sighed. He should be grateful, he knew, that he, Astoria, and Scorpius had been spared. That, even though the world turned its back on his family, still they were treated with a cold civility. Enough to get by, even if they did spend most of their time in their Manor, after. Harry'd had something to do with that, he was sure - not overtly, but his name was written all over it, if you knew him like Draco did. Had. He wished fervently that he'd been able to fall in love again, since Harry, but... Blaise's teasing warning came back to him, echoing down the halls of memory. "When a Slytherin falls, he falls once, he falls hard..."

"Touché, Blaise," he said softly. "Touché."

It had been surprisingly easy, being married to Astoria. They'd suited one another, in their strange, quiet ways. He almost wished he could turn around, go back to the comfort of their routine. But, no. Astoria deserved a second chance at happiness and love, even if Draco didn't want one. Didn't think he deserved one. He sighed, gathering his silence, his Malfoy mask around him like a familiar cloak, cold and hard as steel. He wasn't ready for this, would never be ready for this. But, as always, the world moved on around him, and he found himself shoved inexorably toward the future.

He waited until the echoes of McGonagall's heels clicking purposefully down the corridor faded away. Then, with one last glance at his trunk, and a quick pat to his pocket, to be sure he had the ridiculous key McGonagall had handed him, he turned back the way he'd come, shutting the door behind him. The lock engaged with a quiet snick, and he rested his forehead against the plain wooden surface, gathering his courage. His fingers moved to trace the small brass nameplate beside the door: _D. Malfoy, Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House._

He wasn't the first at the Head Table – as a Malfoy he would never stoop to that – but he was still one of the earliest to arrive. He found his seat and sank into it, toying with the napkin as he waited disinterestedly for the others to arrive. He glanced around at the sea of unfamiliar faces, as the hall filled with students and professors alike, and he wondered again why he'd agreed to this ridiculous scheme. This was shaping up to be a mistake – he just _knew_ it would be. He scowled down at his plate, refusing to engage in the idle chatter that soon surrounded him. He longed for the whole ridiculous affair to be over, so he could fall into his bed and take his nightly dose of Dreamless Sleep. He couldn't afford to dream – dreams were dangerous.

The clamor of voices was fast approaching a din, and he cringed away from the pounding, beating, roar of it. He felt the edges of panic lick at him, and frantically tamped them down. He _would not_ lose it _here_ of all places. He could do this. He could. He just needed a distraction.

Just then, the seat in front of him, the only empty one at the Head Table, was abruptly filled as a thoroughly rumpled figure slumped into it. Draco felt his eyes lifting in morbid curiosity past the rumpled robes to the stranger's face. To messy dark hair, and horridly unfashionable glasses. And eyes that Draco just _knew_ would be a vibrant, mesmerizing green. _Fuck._ He felt himself leaning forward, gripping the edge of the table hard as he stared into that infuriatingly handsome face. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He heard the words pass his lips, distantly, hardly aware he was speaking. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Harry looked up, eyes widening in almost comical shock, and Draco _melted_.

Harry's eyes… Merlin, those eyes. The flames that Draco remembered burning in those eyes – flames that had been curiously absent, when they'd last met, only a few hours before – leapt suddenly, ferociously to life. Harry's eyes burned brighter, wilder, than even his memories of Fiendfyre, and Draco felt like an ember confronted with a wildfire, like a candle staring defiantly into the sun, and he forgot to be afraid. He forgot to breathe.

Then McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly, and Neville's voice boomed over them, washing over Draco in a meaningless roar. His attention was, as usual, entirely fixed on Harry.

Until he heard his son's name. He startled, leaning to the side, to see around Harry. And, yes, there was Scorpius, sitting proudly on the stool, lowering the Sorting Hat onto his platinum hair. Draco knew how much effort it was taking his son, to control his nervous trembling, and he felt a fierce upwelling of love for the boy. He knew what the Hat would say, of course. Knew, too, that Scorpius knew it – and dreaded it. Draco smiled softly, attempting to catch his son's eye. Scorpius didn't look up, just sat quietly until the hat cried "Hufflepuff!" Draco finally managed to catch his eye as Scorpius shuffled through the silence to join his new housemates. When he saw Draco's smile, though, he raised his chin, a new steel in his eyes, and joined the Hufflepuff table with pride intact.

Draco didn't relax until Albus Potter was sorted into Hufflepuff along with Scorpius. Draco watched Scorpius wrap a fond arm around Harry's son and ruffle his hair gently. He watched as Al's fingers found Scorpius' under the table and squeezed. He watched as neither seemed inclined to let go.

Draco felt an overwhelming urge to drop his head onto the table and give up, but the soft, confused light in Harry's eyes stopped him. He scowled down at his plate instead, kicking his chair moodily. What was it about Potters, anyway, that made them so damn irresistible to Malfoys? He remembered teasing Astoria about Ginny – was it only a few hours ago? – and groaned. The fates were mocking him. No, the entire _universe_ was mocking him. That was the only explanation.

Harry, damn him, leaned forward, a teasing light in his eyes. Those maddening eyes that Draco couldn't seem to forget – that haunted his dreams even with the help of Dreamless Sleep. He had the sudden, horrified realization that he probably wouldn't even be able to escape those eyes in death. He squelched the whimper before it could escape, shoved it back behind his impenetrable Malfoy mask. Harry's brows drew down into a faint frown, then he shrugged, seemingly dismissing whatever he'd seen.

"Did you know about them?"

Draco stared. He hadn't expected civil words from Harry – not after his less-than-civil greeting. When Harry's brows began to draw down again, and Draco realized that the silence had dragged on too long, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Er, you mean that they'd be in Hufflepuff?"

Harry's lips twitched upwards, as if he was smiling despite himself, or as if he'd merely forgotten how to smile. "Well, yes, that too, I suppose. But I meant the… friendship."

Draco felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, and he glanced inadvertently back at their sons – yes, their hands were still clasped beneath the table. He groaned internally. "Yes, Potter, I did know – well, suspected, anyway – that Scorpius would end up in Hufflepuff. He's not… like I was. As for their friendship – Astoria hinted at it, when we dropped him off at the station earlier today." He couldn't suppress an eye-roll at his ex-wife's scheming.

Harry, to his surprise, huffed a quiet laugh. "Yes, well, Ginny didn't feel the need to inform me at all. But… yes, I suppose I knew Al would end up in Hufflepuff. I confess that I was a bit worried about it, since none of his cousins have ended up there. Not that Al was ever particularly like his cousins. But, now that he has a friend there – yes, Malfoy, even if it's _your_ son – I find that I'm not all that worried. He's kind, is Al, and loyal. He'll be all right there."

Draco snorted. "Hmm. I suppose I'm glad Scorp has a friend too – even if it is _your_ son."

"Malfoy." Harry's hand crept toward him, entreating, and Draco stiffened. Harry quickly pulled his hand back, blushing. "Sorry. Er. Malfoy – about what you said earlier."

Draco sighed. "Merlin, Potter. What is it?"

"You were never what you pretended to be." Harry didn't look at him, fidgeting absently with something he held below the table.

"Potter – "

"No, Malfoy. Let me finish. And then I'll never mention it again, OK? I just… I need to say it. You spend so much time putting yourself down – always have. Oh, you boast and brag and posture as I'm sure your father told you that you should, but that's not _you._ You're still doing it – implying you're not kind, or loyal, or any of those things. But I know different. I know _you_ Malfoy. Not as well as I should, maybe, but well enough to know that you're a lot more like Scorpius than like the cold, indifferent mask you always wear." Harry looked up again, meeting his eyes, burning him with their heat.

"I… Thanks, I guess."

Harry nodded stiffly at him, then stood with everyone else and left the table.

Draco stared down at his untouched plate. "You don't know anything about me, Harry," he whispered. "Not anymore." Then his eyes hardened, and he glared down at his vegetables as if they had offended him personally. "And you _never_ will."


	6. Metamorphmagus

_Friday, September 1, 2017_

“Uncle Teddy!”

“Hey, Uncle Teddy!”

Teddy Lupin turned to grin at the two boys, scooping them both into his arms. “Oof! You’re getting too big for this!” he laughed, as he nearly stumbled under their combined weight.

“Now,” he said, regarding them seriously, “I have to at least _pretend_ fairness, so I may not always be able to be ‘Uncle Teddy.’”

They nodded. “Yes, Professor Lupin,” they chorused with the rest of the first-years.

Teddy grinned, squashing the pang he always felt when someone called him that. He knew, from the stories his adopted family had told him his whole life, that his father had been a kind and thoughtful professor. He hoped he could be the same. He shook off the solemn thoughts, eager to share in the first-years’ excitement. Oh, yes. He was looking forward to this!

“Um, Professor Lupin?” a small girl asked hesitantly.

He smiled winningly down at her. “Yes….?”

“Oh.” She blushed. “I’m Sara. Sara Peterson. But… Professor… what happened to your hair?”

“Hmm?” Teddy frowned. He’d thought he’d grown out of his hair changing without his thinking about it, but… He turned, spelling one of the stones in the corridor into a mirror. He ignored the awed gasps at the display of magic, focusing in horror on his hair, now striped in alternating Potter ebony and Malfoy platinum.

Scorpius started to snigger. “You… you look like a skunk!” he gasped out, obviously trying to hold in his laughter.

Al didn’t even try. He would probably have fallen over, he was laughing so hard, if not for the way Scorpius was still clutching his hand. Teddy frowned absently, still mostly preoccupied by his hair. He wondered if he would have to do something about their apparent need for constant contact. He filed it away to deal with later, if it became an issue.

He concentrated, scowling into the mirror, and his hair turned bubble-gum pink. Not _precisely_ the look he would have chosen for his first day as Professor Lupin, but… it would have to do. It was better than skunk stripes, at any rate.

He waved his wand, returning the stone to its natural gray, and herded his first-years on. “Right, well. That was… entertaining, I suppose.” He ran his hand through his pink hair and smiled winningly at them. “I’m a metamorphmagus, as some of you may have guessed, which means I can change my appearance at will. And, clearly, sometimes by accident.” He snorted. “Anyway, I’ve always found changing my hair to be easiest, so I usually don’t bother to spend the energy on anything else.”

He grinned at their wide eyes and open mouths. Oh, this was too perfect. “And there’s your first lesson, which you’d do well to remember when you start transfigurations tomorrow – though it’s applicable in all magical disciplines, really. Any time you use magic, you pay a price. For small, ordinary, everyday-magic, you pay in energy – much like you would if you used a non-magical means to complete the same task. But for larger, more complex magic, the price is higher. And whether you pay it yourself, or, as in Dark Magic, use someone else to pay it… well. The crux of the matter is that the price must be paid.”

He took in their serious, slightly-worried expressions and clapped his hands, causing a few of them to jump. "Now, enough of that. Think over what I've said – we'll discuss it more in class tomorrow. For now, though…" He hauled open the doors to their common room abruptly, waving them through and throwing out his arms. "Welcome, my friends, to Hufflepuff. This is your common room – where you'll work and study and relax. Over there are the girls' dorms, divided into upper years (5th, 6th, and 7th) and lower years (2nd, 3rd, 4th, and you guys). Over there are the boys' dorms, divided the same."

He stopped and let them take it all in, reveling in the open wonder and joy on their faces. Yes. _This_ was why he’d agreed to take this position, when McGonagall – Minerva, he corrected himself absently – and Neville had suggested it.

He clapped his hands again to regain their attention. “Now. I’ve only to go over a few House rules, and then I have some things I have to prepare for tomorrow, so I’ll leave you to get settled in and get to know one another. Don’t forget to rest, though! You’ve a big day tomorrow! Oh, and if you have any questions, or need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Your older housemates have all been where you are now, and will doubtless be able to sort out most things, but my room is just down the hall, and my door’s always open. It’s not been terribly long since I stood where you are.”

He grinned at the disbelief in their faces. “Yes, believe it or not, I’m not all that much older than you. And, if I can’t sort out your difficulties, we’ll go straight to Headmaster Longbottom. He’s always willing to listen to students, and he’s very capable. If he can’t sort it, he’ll find someone who can.”

* * *

Al listened impatiently to Uncle Teddy’s speech, bouncing lightly on his toes, trying not to let his attention wander. He was itching to explore, to pull out the journals and curiosities Luna had brought him from her latest adventure, to delve into the depths of the library and dig up the forgotten treasures he knew lurked there, to go down to the greenhouses and badger Uncle Nev to show him the experimental plants he was breeding. It was only the gentle pressure of Scorpius’s hand in his that kept him in place while Uncle Teddy talked. Al _knew_ all this already! He was ready to go, to explore, to learn!

Scorpius squeezed his hand, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “ _Patience_ , Al. Merlin, you’d think you were five years old, not eleven.”

Al stilled instantly, biting his lip. Scorpius was his only friend here, the only one he’d ever really connected with. He didn’t dare offend him. What if he decided he’d rather be friends with one of the other kids? What if –

Scorpius’ breath wafted over his ear as he leaned close. “Al. Relax. You didn’t _really_ think I was upset at you, did you? I just didn’t want to get in trouble before classes even _begin_. I have a family reputation to live down, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Al smiled sheepishly. Then he remembered. “Did you see the way our dads were looking at each other over dinner?”

Scorpius snorted. “If by ‘looking’ you mean ‘alternately glaring and ogling,’ then, yeah.”

“I wonder how long it will be before they break and either hex or snog one another?” Al mused.

Scorpius stared at him, forgetting even the pretense of listening to Uncle Teddy. “Al. This is my dad we’re talking about, remember? Ice Prince of Slytherin? He won’t break.”

Al sighed. “Right. Well, my dad’s a bit more… unpredictable, I guess.”

Scorpius grinned at him. “Yes, well, that’s why we’re gonna need our moms to help. Anyway, let’s talk about our dads’ issues later – right now we’ve got a room to check out!”

Al looked up to find Uncle Teddy was, indeed, done with his speech. He felt guilty for a second for not listening, but reasoned that he really did know all that stuff, and if there was anything important he’d missed, Uncle Teddy could just fill him in later. Anyway, it was Scorpius’ fault for distracting him.

Uncle Teddy raised an eyebrow, a knowing gleam in his eye as he looked back over his shoulder at them, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded and slipped out. Al took that as tacit acceptance.

Scorpius tugged impatiently at his arm. “Come _on_ , Al! Let’s go find our room!”

They stopped in the doorway to the lower-year boys’ dorm, wide-eyed. The large open room was lined with beds. Scorpius gulped. He was used to spending a lot of time alone – he didn’t know if he could get used to sleeping so… exposed like this. Never mind that each bed had curtains around it – it was just so _open_.

Al squeezed his hand. “Look, Scorp!” He pointed to a sign tacked on the inside of the door. “Says here we can reconfigure the room into smaller “rooms” with groups of two or four beds, if we aren’t comfortable like this.”

Scorpius breathed a sigh of relief. Thank Merlin they weren’t going to expect him to trust everyone that quickly. He mentally flicked through the other first-year boys, trying to recall any who’d seemed interesting enough to want to share a ‘room’ with. He’d been so focused on Al, he hadn’t paid that close attention, but… he didn’t think he’d imagined that a few of them had tensed at his name. He _really_ hoped they weren’t going to try hexing him in his bed…

Al was already tugging him toward the back of the room. “Come on! If we grab those two bunks at the back, you can sleep by the wall, and I can be between you and everybody else. That way, we can be sure nobody’s gonna hex you in your sleep.”

Scorpius grinned at him. “Brilliant!” But soon he groaned, frustrated. “That won’t work, Al. You can’t divide it down the middle like that. We’ll have to either both sleep by the wall or find two more people to share with.

“Actually,” came a quiet voice from behind them, “that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“Hi, Dad,” Scorpius said, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

Draco smiled at him, including Al after a brief hesitation. “Teddy forgot to tell you, but he included two extra beds in case your father,” he nodded at Al, “or I ever needed to be in here. I can’t see why we’d need to, to be honest, but Neville suggested it, apparently, and I don’t see the point in arguing, when it solves the problem rather neatly. Your arrangement makes good tactical sense, Al, and you can still set things up that way. Just ‘reserve’ the other two beds for your father and I.”

Scorpius glanced meaningfully at Al. He _thought_ he’d seen his father’s ears redden slightly, but it was hard to tell, since he was backlit slightly, standing in the door as he was.

Draco nodded abruptly. “Right. Well, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to unpack, so I’ll leave you to it.”

The second the Common Room door had swung shut behind him, Scorpius turned to Al excitedly. “Did his ears seem pink to you?”

Al shrugged. “I couldn’t tell. Don’t worry – we’ll have plenty of chances to observe them – we have classes with both tomorrow, remember? Now, come on. Let’s unpack. We can use the other beds to spread our projects out on, since I doubt our dads will actually use them.”


	7. Stars

_Friday, September 1, 2017_

“Psst.”

Scorpius stared into the unfamiliar darkness. The room wasn’t silent – it was filled with the quiet creaks and whispers, snores and mutters of a gaggle of excited boys who couldn’t _possibly_ sleep yet, and the deeper rumblings and grumblings of an old building settling slowly down to sleep.

“Psst. Al.”

The whispers and mutters died away, and even the snores grew fewer and less frequent. The darkness swam before Scorpius’ eyes, fluid and ever-changing, morphing from one half-imagined nightmare to another. Scorpius was used to sleeping in a tower room, windows thrown open to admit the night, stars twinkling merrily outside. Here, on the ground floor, he could feel the great bulk of the castle looming over him in the pregnant stillness. There were no windows in this dorm, and he missed the stars terribly. They had always seemed like his friends – he was named after one, after all, just like his father.

“Al!”

“Mmmphm.” The boy in the next bed shifted slightly.

“Hey! Albus!”

“Wha? Scorp? What is it? _Lumos._ ” Al blinked blearily at Scorpius as he fumbled for his glasses, holding his wand carefully below the level of his bed. He was so _real_ , all rumpled and mussed, and Scorpius nearly wept in relief.

“I…” Suddenly Scorpius realized how ridiculous he would sound. Of _course_ this was different than living in the manor – he’d known it would be. It was just that it was so…so…

Al must have seen something in his face, for he muttered a quiet charm to shove their beds together – and, really, why hadn’t they thought to do this earlier? – and pulled Scorpius into his arms.

“Hey,” he said softly as he ruffled Scorpius’ hair. “It’s OK. I’m here.”

Scorpius sniffled and wiped his nose on the edge of his sleeve. “Thanks, Al. Sorry I woke you.”

Al smiled. “Hey. No big deal. I know you – you’ve probably not slept a wink.”

Scorpius smiled sheepishly at him, but didn’t answer.

Al grinned. “Ha. Knew it. What’s bothering you?”  
Scorpius sighed. “It’s… well… there’s so many people – I can’t see them, but I can hear them – and there’s all this _weight_ hanging over us, and it’s too dark, and…”

“And?”

“…and there’s no _stars_!” he burst out. His cheeks flamed in embarrassment. Al shoved him affectionately.

“Well, not much I can do about most of those, I’m afraid, but… I might be able to manage stars.”

“Really?” Scorpius stared at him. Surely Al wasn’t going to cut a hole in the wall? He _was_ Harry Potter’s son, but…

Of course, he needn’t have worried. Al just scrunched his nose in thought, and then nodded. He took a deep breath, _focused_ his attention as only he and his dad could, and then flicked his wand in an elegant swirl. And then –

Scorpius looked up and his mouth dropped open. The ceiling was covered in stars. _His_ stars – the ones he saw out his window each night. They twinkled down merrily.

Scorpius reached out, and his fingers found Al’s, wrapped around them. “Thank you,” he breathed, never taking his eyes off his stars. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, Scorp,” Al said, laughter threading through his words. He squeezed Scorpius’ fingers, then relaxed his grip, but didn’t pull away. “Think you can sleep, now?”

Scorpius used his free hand to cover a yawn. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Goodnight.”

His only answer was a quiet snore.

* * *

Neither of them noticed Teddy Lupin, who stood outside their “room” and regarded them bemusedly as they drifted off to sleep, hands still clasped.

Teddy sighed, wondering what to do about this latest development. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it – Ginny and Astoria had warned him what might be coming – but still. He rubbed his forehead as he drifted back to his room, pondering. He didn’t want to get the boys in trouble, but… Then he brightened. Of course. It gave him the perfect excuse. He turned away from his bed, where he’d been absentmindedly heading, and tossed floo powder into the cheerful flames crackling in his hearth.

Soon, Harry and Draco joined him in the Hufflepuff Common room. They were both rumpled and a bit bleary-eyed, and both less-than-pleased to be summoned from bed. He held up a hand to forestall their protests.

“Just… come with me. You’ll understand soon enough, and it’s easier than trying to explain it.”

They frowned, but followed him through the silent dormitory.

* * *

“Wow,” Draco breathed, staring up at the twinkling stars scattered on the ceiling. “That’s incredible. It’s the view from Scorpius’ window at the Manor. I had no idea he knew that kind of magic.”

Harry coughed lightly beside him. “He doesn’t.”

Draco turned indignantly toward him, and Harry hurried on. “What I mean is, Al’s the one who did that.” He waved absently at the stunning starscape glittering above them. “I recognize the spell.”

Draco scowled. “I don’t. So, Potter, where did you learn it?”

Harry coughed again. “I… invented it, actually.”

Draco’s scowl turned skeptical, and Harry flushed. “Believe it or not, _Malfoy_ , I actually can do magic. I don’t usually invent my own spells, but Al asked, and I couldn’t really refuse. His class had gone on a visit to a planetarium, and he was fascinated. Asked me to help him recreate the night sky in his bedroom. It took us quite a while, but, in the end, we managed it.”

He frowned slightly, turning his attention to his sleeping son. “I don’t know when he’d have adapted it to the sky over Malfoy Manor, though – it takes some pretty complex equations to change the part of the sky the spell projects.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, well, our sons seem rather closer than either of us probably expected.” He pointed to their clasped hands. “To be honest, Potter, I suppose I’m grateful to your son. I know what it’s like, trying to adjust that first night, when you’re used to being alone.”

Harry grinned at him. “What, so you’re not going to insist that their beds be separate?”

Draco looked again in surprise, having not noticed that detail the first time. Then he grinned slyly, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Well, Potter, to be honest, I’d have expected you to be more worried that they’ve pushed _our_ beds together, too.”

Harry’s gaze flicked incredulously to the other side of their sons’ “room,” and his eyes widened comically as his cheeks reddened.

Teddy cleared his throat, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well. If neither of you is going to object, I’ll leave the two of them to work this out for themselves.” He ushered them out of the room, cancelling the silencing spell he’d wrapped them in as he softly closed the door behind him.

Harry and Draco stared awkwardly at one another for a moment before nodding at Teddy and heading back to their rooms, walking on opposite sides of the corridor. Teddy snorted to himself as he watched them go, noting that, though they walked carefully as far apart as they could, their strides matched perfectly.


	8. Stalking Me AGAIN, Potter?

_Monday, September 4, 2017_

Harry woke early Monday morning – far earlier than he would normally have woken. It was his first day of class, but that didn't explain why he was up early. He'd been to enough first days to know that no one was _ever_ prepared to do any work. All you had to do was show up, and he wasn't about to change that now that he was the professor.

He pulled his wand from beneath his pillow – a wartime habit he'd not managed to break - cast a tempus, frowned at the glowing numbers that floated before his sleep-fogged eyes. He waved his wand again, dismissing the numbers, and setting an alarm to chime in two hours. That should give him sufficient time to grab breakfast and get to his first class. He snuggled back into his surprisingly comfortable bed and closed his eyes.

Five minutes later, he opened them again. This was ridiculous. He muttered grumpily to himself as he showered and dressed, cursing mornings in general and this one in particular as he hopped around the room, attempting to put on his pants and find a pair of socks that matched at the same time.

When he'd sorted himself out, he opened the door and strode into the corridor, only to run smack into another body. He reached out instinctively, catching hold of the other person's waist to steady himself.

"Potter," said an imperious voice he would know anywhere, "kindly remove your hands from my person before I remove them from your arms."

Harry snorted, even as he dropped his hands. "Relax, Malfoy. Anyway, I'd think you'd be grateful to me for keeping us from falling over."

Draco sniffed. "If you'd just looked where you were going like a normal person, and didn't go waltzing around like you own the bloody world and expecting everyone to get out of your way – "

Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Funny, Malfoy, but I didn't see you looking where you were going either."

"That's because you weren't looking, as I believe I just said."

"You're insane, Malfoy. I mean, I suspected as much, when we were in school, but now I'm sure. You're absolutely off your rocker. We. Bumped. Into. Each. Other."

"Whatever, Potter. Now, kindly step aside. I have business to attend to before classes start."

Harry rolled his eyes, stepping back with exaggeratedly large steps. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

Draco strode off, robes flapping about his ankles and pointed chin in the air. Harry shook his head and fell into step beside him. Draco didn't say anything else, but his jaw was taut and he pointedly didn't look in Harry's direction. Their strides matched perfectly, and Harry had to resist the urge to snort as Draco's face grew more pinched the further they walked.

When they reached the ground floor, and Harry turned away from the Great Hall and toward the same corridor Draco was heading for, Draco spun to face him. "Are you stalking me _again_ , Potter? I can promise you that I'm not sneaking off to do Dark Magic this time."

"I did _not_ stalk – and, anyway, I was right, you know. You _were_ up to something."

"Fine, Potter. You were bloody right. Now will you _please_ stop stalking me and leave me to interrogate Teddy about my son in peace?"

"For the last time! I. Am. Not. Stalking. You! As it happens, _I'm_ going to talk to Teddy about _my_ son. And, 'interrogate'? _Really_ , Malfoy?"

Draco scowled, raising his hand to rap sharply on Teddy's door. "Whatever, Potter. I was simply wondering why he didn't seem overly surprised at how close our sons were, when I, at least, didn't have a bloody clue."

"I hardly think that's Teddy's fault, Malfoy. It seems to me that you might need to pay a bit more attention to your son."

"Oh, you're one to talk, Potter. You were as surprised as I was – you said as much at the banquet."

They were still bickering when Teddy opened the door, blinked blearily at them for a moment, and then waved them in, muttering "it's too early for this."

Teddy led them into the small, cheery kitchenette, yawning as he put the kettle on. He grabbed three mismatched mugs off the shelf. "Sugar?" he asked.

"None for me, thanks," said Harry.

"Yes," said Draco, poking absently through the spice rack, "Three lumps."

Harry snorted. "You always did have a sweet tooth."

Draco turned to look at him oddly. "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged, leaning against the edge of the counter and crossing his arms. "Your mum sent you posh chocolates every week. It was a bit obvious." He fidgeted under Draco's incredulous gaze. "What?"

Draco shook his head. "Potter. You were stalking me. This just proves it."

"Yeah, well… stop!" Harry lunged over and knocked Draco's cup of tea out of his hand.

"What the – Potter! What did you do that for?"

Harry pointed wordlessly to the canister sitting innocently next to the kettle. The canister marked 'SALT.' Draco's face paled further, and he shuddered. "Well… Thanks, I guess. That would have been… unpleasant."

"You're welcome." Harry turned to Teddy. "Did you realize you were putting _salt_ in the tea?"

Teddy frowned at him. "What?"

Draco smirked. "I'd forgotten how emphatically _not_ a morning person you are." He waved Teddy away from the counter. "Go take your shower. I'll take care of the tea and make us some breakfast."

Harry rolled his eyes. " _We'll_ make us some breakfast, is what he means to say."

"And what makes you think I'd let you anywhere near the cooking?"

"Hey! I actually _can_ cook, you know. I did most of the cooking, in fact. Ginny always hated it. Have _you_ ever cooked, Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Really."

"Oh don't look so surprised, Potter. There's loads more to me than you could have ever figured out from your immature stalking."

"Give it a rest, will you? I was a kid. We were both kids. Pass the eggs."

"Make me, Potter."

"Malfoy…"

Teddy slipped out of the room, leaving them to sort it out. If either Harry or Draco had bothered to look up, they'd have seen the hint of a smirk that escaped before he'd quite made it out the door. Of course, neither of them did.

* * *

"So…" Harry said hesitantly, after they'd worked in blissful – and strangely companionable – silence for several minutes. He bit his lip, wondering if he dared ask.

"Oh, go on, Potter. I can't concentrate with you thinking so loudly. Just ask already."

"Er. How'd you learn to cook like this?" He waved his hand vaguely over the counter and stovetop, where breakfast was coming together surprisingly well.

Draco paused in the act of turning the bacon. "I could ask you the same question." He frowned. "Actually, I think I will. Where _did_ you learn to cook like this, Potter? You're actually… competent. Though it pains me to say it."

Harry snorted. "Thanks, Malfoy. But, I asked you first."

Draco's lips twitched up, to Harry's delight, but he caught himself before he let the grin slip out. "Ah, but I won't answer unless you do, you see. So…"

Harry sighed. "You're so immature, sometimes, you know that?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Oh, fine," Harry huffed. "It was my… muggles."

Draco frowned at him. "Your relatives? I'd heard they didn't like you or something."

Harry let out a startled laugh. "That's the understatement of the century. You don't have to like someone to teach them to cook for you. In fact, it probably helps if you _don't_ like them."

Draco looked puzzled. "Cook _for_ you?"

"Oh, no. I'm not saying anything else until you tell me how you learned. Fair's fair, and all."

"Dobby," Draco said softly. "When I was young. The kitchen was the coziest room in the Manor, and I was always cold. He wouldn't let me sit around, though. Gave me little things to do, to help. When I'd mastered one thing, he'd start me on another." He stared off into the distance, eyes suspiciously bright, then blinked, shuttering them. "It helped that cooking's a lot like Potions. After the war… I never wanted to be completely dependent on anyone ever again. So I asked the other house-elves to teach me."

Harry stared at him, suddenly catching a glimpse of a Draco he'd never suspected existed. A Draco who was dangerously attractive. To distract himself from that disturbing revelation, he looked down, concentrating on whisking. He wanted to answer Draco's question, suddenly. It felt like the right thing to do, after Draco had trusted him with his confidence. But he didn't think he could say the words if he could see Draco's reaction to them. The truth was, he'd never really told anyone the details of what the Dursleys had done to him. Little bits here and there, to Hermione or Ron. A few to Ginny, though she'd never really been interested in that part of him. She'd always wanted him to be her hero. And now he found himself actually wanting to talk about it. With Draco, of all people.

He shook his head softly, cleared his throat, and plunged in. "I don't know how much you know about them – the Dursleys. I've never really talked about them. I preferred not to, at school. It always seemed better to shove them to the back of my mind and not think about them. Like it made summers more bearable, somehow, if they couldn't intrude on my life at Hogwarts." He snorted. "It didn't hurt that I always had a lot to think about that _wasn't_ the Dursleys."

He darted a quick look at Draco's face, ready to clam up if there was even a hint of that old mocking expression. But Draco's face was open, and there was a faint line between his brows, as if he were puzzling something out. Harry looked back down at his hands, and continued. "Anyway, long story short, they hated me. My mother's sister was my only living relative, and so Dumbledore took me to her when they… found me. Only she and her husband were firm believers in being 'normal,' and denying the existence of magic. They hated me, because of who my parents had been. Because of _what_ they had been. I slept in a cupboard under the stairs, and was regularly locked into it for days. I wore my cousin Dudley's old clothes – which were much too large for me – and did all the chores."

Harry snuck another peek at Draco's expression, and was relieved to find it no more mocking than before. There was a look of dawning horror and comprehension in Draco's eyes, and Harry quickly looked down again, before he lost his nerve. "That included cooking. I didn't get very much to eat, and they routinely took away meals as punishment for things like accidental magic."

Draco sucked in a breath at that, but Harry didn't look up, plowing ahead before Draco could say whatever he was about to. He didn't think he could start again if Draco stopped him now, and he suddenly wanted very much to tell him – tell him everything. "I got used to it – it's amazing what the body can get used to, really - though it was always difficult to go back, at the end of each year."

The kitchen was silent, for several heartbeats, as Harry stared determinedly at his hands, waiting for whatever judgment Draco was about to pass. He jumped when a hand descended onto his shoulder, grasping it just tightly enough to be soothing. A friendly gesture. He realized belatedly that it was Draco's hand, and looked up, astonished green eyes meeting apologetic gray ones. Then Draco leaned in, his soft blonde hair brushing against Harry's cheek. "I'm sorry," he breathed into Harry's ear. "I had no idea, and I teased you for it – the clothes, the skinniness, your hatred of your fame, that I somehow misconstrued as glory-seeking."

Harry laughed, nervous, and a little breathless. Draco's nearness seemed to have sucked all the air from the room. "It's OK, Malfoy. We were just kids."

"Even so. I could have tried to find out the truth. I should have. I should have believed you, and I shouldn't have tormented you. I just didn't know how to stay away from you."

Harry stepped away, smiling self-deprecatingly at him. "Yeah, well. You're talking to the boy who stalked you for years, remember? I'm hardly innocent in this."

Draco folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, odd vulnerability wiped once again from his face. "Oh, so you're admitting to the stalking, now."

Harry laughed, turning back to the food. "Come on, Malfoy. Let's just get breakfast made so we can interrogate Teddy."

"Ooh, can we play Good Auror, Bad Auror? I've always wanted to do that!"

"Sure, Malfoy. Which do you want to be then?"

"Bad Auror, obviously, Potter. Use your brain. You couldn't be intimidating if you tried."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy."


	9. I *am* A Hufflepuff, you know

_Monday, September 4, 2017_

Teddy, deciding that he’d stalled as long as he dared, took a fortifying breath and walked back into the kitchen. He breathed out in relief when it proved to be as neat as he’d left it, with Harry and Draco companionably serving up a truly delicious-smelling breakfast, and not the grisly aftermath of a food fight or duel that he’d feared.

As he watched, Harry carried the first plate to the table; Draco followed with the other two. Harry turned back for the mugs, but Draco waved his wand and floated all three gracefully through the air toward them. Harry frowned, furrowing his brow, and suddenly a baffling array of condiments and sides were pelting toward the table in an angry swarm. Teddy ducked and threw up a hasty shield charm. Draco merely raised a condescending eyebrow, as Harry fumbled his wand and then halted the barrage just before it impacted Teddy’s shield.

Draco lifted one pale, thin finger and poked the salt cellar where it hovered in midair a scant inch from his nose. “Interesting,” he said conversationally. “That’s twice you’ve saved me from the salt this morning, Potter. Though I’m not sure the second should really count, since it was your fault the salt was winging toward my head in the first place.” Harry grimaced. “Still,” Draco continued, “it does make one wonder. Perhaps I should check myself into the hospital wing and get Madam Pomfrey to test my sodium levels.”

Teddy snorted around a mouthful of bacon, having decided it was safe to sit down. “It wouldn’t be Madam Pomfrey, for such a simple thing as that. Susan’s mostly taken the hospital wing over. Madam Pomfrey supervises her, and helps out on the really complicated cases.”

Draco paused. “Susan? The name sounds familiar, but…”

“Susan Bones,” Harry supplied. “She was in our year. A Hufflepuff, lost most of her family to Death Eaters, was in the DA…”

“Oh.” Draco grimaced. “The slug incident. Right.”

“She probably doesn’t remember…” Harry trailed off.

Draco snorted. “Oh, I’m sure she remembers. Rather unforgettable, that. From the suddenly-turned-slug side, anyway.”

Harry tried valiantly not to smile, but couldn’t hold it in. “Well. I suppose it was rather unforgettable from the other side too.” He slapped Draco on the back, forgetting momentarily who he was talking to. “Cheer up, Malfoy. She probably can’t do any _worse_. And, really, all she’ll have to do is threaten you with slugs and you’ll turn into a model patient.”

“I appreciate the effort, Potter, but you really are pretty lousy in the reassurance department.”

“Yeah, well. You’re not the first to say that.”

“Bones…” Draco mused. “Hmm. I can’t decide whether it’s appropriate or alarming.”

“I’m leaning toward alarmingly appropriate, myself,” Harry said. “Muggle doctors were once nicknamed “Sawbones,” did you know? Around a hundred years ago, army doctors would saw the patient’s arm or leg off, after a bad wound, because they didn’t know how to stop the spread of infection.”

Draco shuddered. “How positively barbaric! And you wonder why I’ve never been fond of muggles.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t do it anymore,” Harry offered.

“Hmm.”

For a moment, the only sound was the clinking of silverware, and contented chewing. Then Draco broke the silence. “So, Potter. What do you have planned for your students today?”

Harry paused, fork hovering in midair. “Sorry, what?”

Draco cocked his head to one side. “You do remember that you’ll be teaching classes after this?”

“Well, yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes. “But, really, do you remember doing anything in your first DADA class of the year?”

Draco stared at him. “I don’t know if you recall, Potter, but none of the DADA professors we were saddled with were really worth emulating.”

Harry paused, considering. “Point. But those were…extenuating circumstances. And, anyway, now that there’s not a war on…” He shrugged. “I figure I’ll chat a bit, outline some history of the war, answer a handful of questions, and maybe demonstrate a few spells, get a feel for what the older students know already and need help with.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Draco conceded. “I’m afraid I’ll be lecturing and starting them on their first potions. The Potions curriculum is dense enough as it is, and I was hoping to introduce some of the latest theories and experimental potions at the end of the year, time permitting.”

Harry looked slightly impressed. “Suddenly I feel much less prepared,” he said with a smile. Then he turned to Teddy, who’d been watching them silently, gathering ammunition. “What about you? Going to dive into the first transfiguration, or cut the students some slack?”

Teddy grimaced. “I wish. McGonagall is mentoring me, so she’ll be there to assist.”

Harry and Draco pulled nearly identical faces. “Diving in, then,” they said together. Teddy couldn’t help but laugh. After a few minutes of general merriment, he coughed. “As amusing as this is, I believe you two have some questions for me, and we don’t have long until we have to be in our respective classes.” He grinned. “At least, I assume you didn’t come here just to make me a fabulous breakfast.” He gestured emphatically with his fork. “Though, I wouldn’t complain if you did. This is the best meal I’ve head in ages.”

Draco cast a quick _tempus_ , alarm writ large on his face. “Potter! We don’t have time for Good Auror, Bad Auror!”

“Some other time, Malfoy,” Harry smirked. “I’m sure we’ll have another excuse for it.”

“Ooh, yes. Maybe we should make this a regular thing. Breakfast and Interrogation, with your hosts, Malfoy and Potter.” Draco pulled a series of ‘excited’ faces, each more exaggerated than the last, intoning the words in a parody of Lee Jordan’s announcer voice.

Teddy couldn’t decide whether to be amused or worried. He settled on amused. “Breakfast, I’ll take anytime. This really is fabulous. As for interrogation… Why don’t we just have periodic chats or progress reports or something?”

Draco pouted. “Oh, fine. You’re no fun.”

Teddy checked Draco’s _tempus_ again and pushed aside his plate. “Anyway, I assume you’re both here about your sons, and about what you saw last night.”

Harry glanced at Draco, who shrugged. They both nodded.

Teddy smiled. The two had great chemistry, which he’d always suspected. Especially after everything he’d learned from their sons. To see them together though, after all those years of tiptoeing around their pointed avoidance of each other… He shook his head. He could ponder all this later – right now, he had to figure out what to tell them. Since he didn’t have time to fabricate a convincing lie – not that he wanted to, really – he settled on the truth.

“It was an accident; the first time they met. I’d already been watching Al for a while, then, to give you a break, Harry, and to give him somewhere else to go when you visited the Weasleys.”

Harry nodded. “Al never really fit in with his siblings and cousins. He was _so_ much happier spending that time in the library with you.”

Teddy smiled. “Yes. And I was also watching Scorp on occasion, by then, Draco.”

Draco nodded. “Though, you never mentioned Al would be there too.”

“He wasn’t,” Teddy said quickly. “At least, not at first. I knew that you wanted nothing to do with one another, so I split my time between your families.” He made a wry face. “Of course, I should have realized that I’d never be able to keep things so neatly separated forever.”

“One summer day, a couple years ago, I had Al at the library as usual. He was reading way above his age level by then, and had just gotten really interested in muggle science – biology, astronomy, genetics – ”

“I remember,” Harry interrupted. “That was the summer after that planetarium field trip, when he begged me to help him recreate the stars on his ceiling. That’s when we started working on that spell – though it took us a couple of years to get it right.”

Teddy grinned. “Yeah. I learned a _lot_ about the stars that summer. More than I wanted to know, believe me.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

Draco frowned. “I remember that summer, too,” he said slowly. “Scorpius started going on and on about astronomy. Dug up my grandfather Abraxas’ old telescope and star charts and everything. I just assumed it was something Astoria had encouraged him in.”

Harry’s forehead wrinkled as he puzzled over Draco’s words. “You didn’t know what she was teaching him? And you never bothered to ask?”

Draco scoffed. “Oh, please, Potter. Don’t tell me you knew everything Ginny taught the kids.”

“Gin was away a lot, with the Harpies. She left the schooling up to me. And, of course, the primary school we sent them to.”

“Right. A _muggle_ school. She really left it all up to you, then?” Draco’s voice was curiously intent.

Harry shrugged. “We talked about it, sometimes, but she was content to leave most of it to me, yeah. She preferred to use her time with them for other things. Quidditch, visiting her family, that kind of thing.”

“Huh. Well, anyway, Astoria and I split the subjects we felt Scorpius needed to know. She took the ones she was good at and/or interested in; I took the ones I was. Between the two of us, we had most everything covered. We met up, on occasion, for brunch and progress reports.”

Harry stared at him. “You met up occasionally for brunch? You didn’t see her otherwise?”

Draco shrugged. “We didn’t really have all that much in common. Or, we did, I suppose,” he raised his glass wryly to Harry, “but it was more a common desire to do our own thing and ignore one another. We were – are – friends.” He looked up, smiling, at Harry’s flabbergasted expression. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Surely you knew that’s how Pureblood marriages work?”

“I thought… your parents… they always seemed so close.” Harry flushed, looking down at his plate.

Draco shrugged. “They were. Sometimes you get lucky; sometimes you get the socially acceptable marriage _and_ love. My parents did.”

“But you didn’t.”

Draco didn’t answer. “Teddy,” he said, carefully not looking at Harry, “you were explaining how you ended up introducing our sons.”

Teddy glanced back and forth between them, expression inscrutable. “Yes. As I was saying, Al and I frequented the library that summer, and were delving into the muggle sciences. One day he had gone off to search the stacks for some book that had been eluding us while I went to get a drink of water. I was going back to meet Al when Astoria came dashing in, Scorp in tow, looking flustered. ‘Oh, Teddy, thank goodness you’re here!’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to have Scorp for the afternoon, but something’s come up – my assistant called from the shoot saying it was an absolute emergency, and this shoot is crucial for my contract – and Draco is off at some meeting or other about the estate, and you weren’t home, and Andromeda has her book club, and I just didn’t know what to do! So I came here, hoping we’d run into you, and here you are.’

“She was gasping for breath at this point, so I guided her to a chair and sent Scorp to fetch her a glass of water. And then she looked up at me, with those big blue eyes, and said ‘Oh, please, Teddy – can you take him for the afternoon? I’ll make it up to you, I promise, and I’ll owe you a huge favor and – ’ So of course I agreed, just because I was afraid she would hyperventilate.” Teddy snorted.

“So she runs off to tend to her emergency, and Scorp and I just stare at one another for a moment, recovering from all the hysteria, and then it hits me. I’ve just agreed to watch Scorp. And I already have Al. So now I have two boys, instead of one, and, on top of that, neither of them is supposed to ever meet the other, because their fathers insist on perpetuating some schoolboy feud.”

Teddy looked up to find Harry and Draco fixing him with identical scowls. “Oops. Sorry. Anyway, so Scorp and I go and hunt down Al, and I introduce them, praying that they don’t start a fight in the library, because the last thing we need is to get kicked out. At first they just stare at each other, sizing one another up. And then… Al sticks out his hand, introduces himself. Scorp shakes it, introduces himself. He notices Al’s book, and both sets of eyes light up, with that frightening gleam that I’ve only ever seen in Hermione when she’s got an idea. And they both start talking a mile a minute, and diving into the stacks of books Al’s already weighted our usual table with, and they’ve never really stopped.”

Teddy grinned. “And when I saw that gleam in their eyes, I just thought ‘Oh, Merlin, what have I done?’ But they were so happy, together. Happier than I’d ever seen them. So we talked, the three of us, and decided that it would be best if we just kept it a secret between us. Because we all knew that if either of you found out, you’d forbid them from seeing each other. And then, of course, Astoria and Ginny found them one day this past summer, but it was OK because they’d gone in with the idea to introduce them and hope they hit it off. Since they were already friends, they just planned out the rest of the summer to get them together as much as possible.” He shrugged. “And the rest you know.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Well.”

Draco checked his _tempus_ and grimaced. “Indeed. Now, we’d best hurry, or we’ll all be late to class. And won’t that look good – three of Hogwarts’ newest – and most famous – professors, all late.”

Harry and Draco cleared away the remains of breakfast, working together with an unconscious ease, whilst Teddy rummaged about for a few mysterious objects he’d collected for the students to transfigure. In a few minutes, they were out the door, and walking companionably down the hall.

They reached the transfigurations classroom first. “Well, this is my stop,” Teddy joked, turning toward the door.

“Teddy,” Harry said suddenly.

“Yes?” He stopped, turned back to face them.

“How did you do it?”

“Pardon?”

Harry gestured between himself and Draco. “We just spent a morning together, and for the first time in my life, I found it relaxing, instead of stressful. It was almost… fun. So how the hell did you do it?”

Teddy smirked at them. “There’s a reason I was sorted into Hufflepuff, you know.” He turned and slipped into his classroom before either of them could reply.


	10. Sugar-coated Lies

_Friday, September 8, 2017_

Harry grit his teeth as the hellions also known as the Weasley spawn finally, _finally_ , filed out of his classroom, jostling and laughing and being generally insufferable. His eldest son was one of the worst of them. Harry shut the door behind them, slumping against it in relief. Thank fuck it was his last class of the day. Although… Harry groaned as he realized that their antics this afternoon guaranteed him yet another sleepless night dealing with the results of their pranks.

For the first time in his life, Harry found himself regretting some of his past escapades, and he whispered a quiet thanks to the professors who had kept him (mostly) safe despite his idiocies. He vowed to send McGonagall – Minerva, difficult as it was to think of her that way – a sinfully expensive gift that Christmas. She'd put up with Harry, his father (not to mention Sirius and Remus, whose memory Harry loved fiercely, while still admitting that being their professor would have been hell), and now his idiot son. He buried his face in his hands, let out a despairing groan, and slid down the door, landing with a quiet thump on the classroom floor, feeling, for the first time in his life, a real empathy for his youngest son. He'd never understood why Al was more comfortable with his books than his siblings and cousins. Now he thought he knew.

One week. He'd been a professor here for _one fucking week_ and he was already ready to give up.

It would have been OK, he thought, if the kids had actually shown any interest in the subject he was trying to teach. But the only thing they seemed to care about was Harry Potter. No, he corrected himself, not even that. Because all that Chosen One shit he'd been at least a little prepared for. And half of Gryffindor knew him as an uncle-of-sorts anyway. No, the only thing on these kids' minds was the legendary feud between Harry Potter and his childhood nemesis and sworn enemy Draco Malfoy.

Harry felt the sudden urge to laugh, but what bubbled out of his throat was a strange half-laugh, half-sob. Draco sodding Malfoy. Would he _ever_ be able to escape the prat? The very idea that it was _Draco Malfoy_ who had been Harry's greatest enemy – not, you know, Voldemort – made him feel strangely empty inside. Because he hadn't thought of Malfoy as an enemy for a very long time. In fact, he admitted bitterly to himself, he wasn't sure he ever really had. He had almost looked forward to their boyhood spats. It was a form of stress relief – an "enemy" he could lash out at, when the real enemy proved out of his reach.

And now Malfoy wasn't talking to him. At all. And that was somehow worse than the verbal and physical sparring. Because he had always been absolutely certain that he _mattered_ to Malfoy. He had felt like the most important thing in Malfoy's world. And now… now he felt like nothing at all.

Harry shook his head and forced himself onto his feet. He wasn't a teenager anymore – he needed to find somewhere a little softer to sit and think. Mope. He scowled, forced out a jagged laugh that felt like it left raw, bloody edges behind. The "great" Harry Potter, sitting on the dusty flagstones and _moping_ over Draco sodding Malfoy. He slashed his wand through the air, with rather more force than was strictly necessary, indulging for a moment in the fantasy that it was his more troublesome students he was pointing it at, and not just the equipment that needed putting to rights.

That done, he turned with a swirl of robes that Snape would have envied, stalking off to the kitchens in search of a bottle of firewhisky. Perhaps he could skip out on dinner, have the house-elves send him a plate. He didn't think he could face Malfoy right now and make polite dinner conversation, when all he wanted was to tackle him to the ground. And if what he wished would follow that tackling was kissing and not punching, well, he just wouldn't share that last bit. With anyone. Ever.

Armed with a bottle of firewhisky and strict instructions for the house-elves to send him a platter and not let anyone in to bother him – unless someone was dying, he'd added quickly, thinking of some of his son's more ridiculous stunts – Harry threw himself into the comfortable squashy armchair in front of his small fire. He'd nicked it from the common room his second day, and no one seemed to mind that the battered, threadbare chair had suddenly gone missing. The house-elves had replaced it with a new one the next day, anyway. Harry knew he could have asked them to bring _him_ a new one, but he was partial to this one. He'd spent more hours than he cared to count curled up in it, when he was a boy, and it always made him a bit nostalgic, such a visceral reminder of his past. Of the Boy Who Lived - the boy he'd nearly forgotten.

"The worst thing," he muttered, a few glasses in, "is that they don't know what they're asking."

None of those kids had been alive during the war. It wasn't _real_ for them, like it was for him. They didn't have dead that they remembered – just stories. The war was already fading into "history" – and that made him sad and angry all at once, and left him feeling very, _very_ old.

It was just – these stories, and legends, and heroes. _And villains_ , he thought, reminded suddenly of Draco, of his parents, who had supported Voldemort, yes, but who had saved Harry, in the end. Who had found love in a pureblood marriage. Who had quite obviously loved their son. Who had been murdered, after serving their sentence. And Draco…

No. They hadn't been villains. And he knew that he hadn't been – wasn't – a hero. They had been _people_ to him. Real people, with all their foibles, their eccentricities and truths and lies. None of them heroes. Not villains. And he didn't know how to explain it to these kids, who didn't – couldn't – understand because they hadn't been there. They hadn't seen. All they had was stories. And it _wasn't good enough_. He just wished he knew what he could do to change it.

Because he wanted – needed – to make it _real_ for them. But how to do that without having them live it? And no child should go through that. Bad enough that he'd been forced to. But – still. He had to do something…

He'd tried, though, hadn't he? He'd patiently answered their questions – the same ones, over and over. He'd tried to make them see what it was like. He'd gone in, after that first awful day, armed with lesson plans and demonstrations. He'd tried, Merlin help him, to answer their damn questions. And since it was him, and he never could do anything halfway – except Divinations, he thought suddenly, wincing, and muttering a belated apology to Trelawny as he remembered the way he and Ron had blown off her assignments – he had tried to answer them honestly.

He'd torn open the old scars, told those kids the truth, every word sending a stab of pain to his scar, to his gut. And they didn't even fucking listen. Because, he realized, with a clarity that was almost blinding, they already had the answers they wanted to hear – the ones he'd refused to give them – all the half truths and blatant lies they'd grown up hearing and reading. And believing.

They tripped blithely off their innocent tongues, those sugar-coated lies, and crowded out the sharp, jagged truths that Harry tried to give them.

And he'd died a little more each day. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling the weight of his failure pressing down on him. He'd had enough. A week into the job and he'd given up ever getting through to them, determining to let them make up their own answers – they would anyway.

He'd put less and less effort into his lessons – no one was interested in learning anything. They'd all been raised with the comfortable lie that the Dark Arts were all in the past. That they belonged to the pages of Binns' dry history books, and not in their sheltered, candy-coated lives.

None of these kids believed in the Dark Arts – not even his own – and none of them cared to learn how to defend against them. And Harry, who knew that the Dark Arts didn't just disappear with Voldemort – whose name no one would say, even now – that they'd always be there, waiting for the next to Dark Lord to rise from the shadows, didn't know how to tell them this in a way that they would believe.

He'd stopped answering their questions. None of them seemed to notice. He'd started answering with ambiguous grunts that they could take to mean whatever they wanted.

People had begun to whisper, he knew – he'd never really forgotten _that_ feeling, the one where conversation stops awkwardly when you enter a room, and you just _know_ they were talking about you. That it was the staff room, now, and the head table, not the common room or the Gryffindor table didn't change the way it felt. He knew they called him names – curt, churlish, brooding. He didn't care. Mostly.

Harry took another swig from the nearly empty bottle and stared absently into the flames, letting the hissing, crackling, writhing sea of red and gold carry him away.


	11. Potter, Potter, Potter

_Friday, September 15, 2017_

Draco sat at his desk, smiling with forced cheerfulness at the horde of students as they packed away their things, stopping to put their homework on top of the neat pile at the edge of his desk before filing out of the room. Draco stared fixedly past them, refusing to meet any of their eyes. When the chatter died away down the hall, he chanced a quick glance around the room, in case a student was waiting to ambush him. The coast was clear – they were gone. _Fucking finally!_

Draco flicked his wand at the door, slamming it, then dropped his head to the desk, resting it atop his folded hands. Why _?_ Out of all the candidates for the DADA position – and surely there had been others; the post couldn’t still be cursed, or he’d have heard of it – why did it have to be _Potter_?

Stupid, bumbling, idiot Potter, with his shy smiles and offer of friendship. With his sly glances and hints that he might want something more. Couldn’t he see that Draco didn’t _want_ more?

Well, okay, fine, so he did want more. Wanted it more than anything, especially since he had an inkling what that more might consist of. Since he’d had it before – back before he’d done the noble thing and thrown it away. But Potter didn’t know, and Draco knew he could never tell him. He didn’t think he could stand it, if Potter rejected him, rejected the truth of the past that Draco had erased.

And now it was back. But, Merlin help him, Draco didn’t think he could stand it – to lose Potter _again_. Because surely that’s what would happen. Surely Potter couldn’t mean that he wanted more with Draco _forever_. He’d just gotten out of a loveless marriage to the woman who, inexplicably, had caught his own ex-wife’s eye. He’d never even had a man, except for Draco. _And he doesn’t even know he had me._

No. This was just too much. He’d just have to convince Neville to let him leave. Not that he hadn’t already tried – but the Gryffindor menace had grown into himself, since they’d left school. He seemed to have inherited many of Dumbledore’s ways, along with his job. He even had the bloody beard. Draco snorted. He actually found himself liking this Neville, with the long beard, and the twinkle in his eye. Even if the resemblance to Dumbledore did make Draco’s stomach give uneasy little flops. Neville had listened intently to his stuttered request for resignation, stroked that infuriating beard, and then flatly denied it. Oh, he had reasons – the difficulty of finding a qualified Potions professor at the salary Hogwarts could pay, the disruption to the students’ learning if their professor was swapped out partway through the year. Utter rot, but the idiot had maneuvered Draco neatly out the door with a promise to _“_ think about it.”

And then there was Potter himself. Potter, who’d seemed so… _happy_ when they’d had breakfast in Teddy’s rooms. Potter, who’d followed Draco around like a lovesick puppy afterward, and who had, after nearly a week of stubborn denial, finally taken Draco’s firm rejections of friendship to heart. He’d _finally_ stopped asking. Of course, Draco couldn’t help but notice the way Potter’s open face had immediately closed off again the last time he’d shot the fool down. The way his smiles had dimmed, become forced, and then dropped off his face altogether. The way his eyes had shuttered, and the brilliant glowing green dimmed to a sort of muddy hazel.

And, yes, perhaps Draco _had_ been a bit harsh with him, but Potter just hadn’t taken no for an answer! He winced, remembering the look on Potter’s face, as Draco’s cruel words cut through his non-existent shields like shards of glass. No, Draco wasn’t going to get another shot at that friendship. He’d well and truly burned his bridges. He just hoped Potter didn’t start hexing him in the halls.

Potter hadn’t tried anything, so far. He’d just… stared. His wide, guileless eyes sad, and lonely, and a little lost. Draco had nearly caved then, but he’d shored up his walls with all the tricks his father had taught him, and the moment had passed.

Of course, just because he wasn’t trying to talk to Draco anymore, didn’t mean he wasn’t _bothering_ him. Draco had fallen back into his old habits of watching Potter, and he couldn’t seem to stop. He’d watched, not a little alarmed, as Potter had grown just a bit thinner, just a bit paler each day. It wasn’t his fault, he reassured himself. There was more to it, certainly.

People were talking about Potter again. Draco remembered it, from their school days – back then he’d started most of the rumors himself, taken a gleeful pleasure in knocking the “Golden Boy” down a few pegs. He hadn’t had anything to do with it, this time. He’d been shocked, the first time he heard them whispering. Calling Potter churlish, and worse. He’d finally cornered a student, one of the 6th year Slytherins unlikely to go to Potter, and asked. It seemed that they’d been asking him about the war, about their old rivalry – the same things they’d been asking Draco. But Potter, ever the fool, had answered. He’d told them the truth. Of course, anyone with any sense could see that these kids didn’t want the truth. They wanted reassurance, the same lies they’d grown up with, maybe a few new epic stories. Not the truth. Never that.

And the combination of Draco’s snubbing and the children’s dismissal of Potter’s painful truths, and then the way the other adults were talking about him… it had finally worn him down. He was giving up. Draco could see it, with aching clarity. He _knew_ what that felt like. Had lived it. But on Potter it seemed wrong.

Draco sighed. He was brooding about Potter _again._ Yes, the git clearly had problems, but he couldn’t dwell on them. He had his own problems to deal with. Not least of which were caused by Potter. Because if the staff were talking about Potter, Boy Wonder, it wouldn’t be long before they were talking about Draco too. And he wouldn’t be nearly as lucky. If everybody knew what Potter would say (or thought they did) because he was the hero of their stories, well, they knew what Draco would say because he was the villain.

The students had startled him, that first day, with all their questions about Potter. Was Potter as bad at Potions as they’d heard? Did Potter _really_ not know how to make _that_ potion? Did Potter _really_ bungle _that_ potion so badly the entire room had to be evacuated?

Never mind the last was almost certainly Neville.

He hadn’t said that, of course. It wouldn’t have gone over well. These kids _adored_ Neville – Headmaster Longbottom, to them.

And, Draco’s personal favorite, did Potter _really_ cheat at Potions his fifth year?

Draco sighed. Potter, Potter, Potter. It seemed there was nothing else his traitorous brain could think about. He hadn’t seen the git in almost a week, since he had suddenly stopped showing up for dinner. Not that he minded. Exactly. But… It felt wrong, eating in the Great Hall, without Potter to stare at. He hadn’t realized it until Potter stopped showing up, how deeply ingrained that habit was. He’d spent nearly every meal at Hogwarts since their first year staring at Potter. The Great Hall felt somehow empty without Potter’s presence to fill it. Only, Draco was the only one who seemed to notice.

Draco groaned, thumping his head on the desk a few times. It didn’t really help. He _had_ to do something about this ridiculous obsession. He pulled the stack of papers across the desk resolutely. If Potter could skip dinner, well, so could he. It was always uncomfortable, anyway. He hadn’t made any friends among the staff, and he hadn’t realized until Potter stopped showing up that he was the only one who ever made any attempt to talk to him.

He dipped his quill into the bright green ink he used for grading – red was _far_ too Gryffindor for his taste – and slashed angry corrections through several of the words in the essay at the top of the stack. Feeling marginally better, especially when he realized it was one of his most troublesome Gryffindor students’ papers, he continued correcting. And if he was overly harsh, and his comments were more biting than usual, well, it would probably do the idiot good. Honestly. The fool seemed to have copied random sentences from his textbook without bothering to actually read them.

With one final scathing remark, Draco slapped a failing grade at the top of the paper and reached for the next one in the stack. Grading was more comfortable here than in his rooms, and he would reward himself for finishing early by stopping by the kitchens and arranging with the house elves to have his meals sent to his classroom from now on. If anyone complained, he could point out that Potter was doing the same thing. Not that he really thought anyone would mind him not showing up to meals. It would probably make the conversation at the Head table less stilted, anyway.

Draco nodded to himself, decided, and failed another paper, though this one got fewer scathing remarks. He really hoped _somebody_ had actually attempted to do well on this assignment. Shaking his head, he reached for another paper, dipped his quill, and began to write.


	12. Paper Dragons

_Saturday, September 23, 2017_

“No, I really think it should go here.”

Scorpius stepped back to survey the wall, and then nodded. “You’re right. It looks _much_ better there.”

Al grinned. “Told ya!”

Scorpius chucked a pillow at him, which Al fended off, laughing. “Watch it!” he yelped, mock-offended. “I’ve not stuck it down yet!”

Scorpius grinned, unrepentant. “You could always fix it, if it broke. Or ask Mum for another one.”

Al rolled his eyes but grinned back. “Yeah, yeah.” He turned his attention back to the elegantly framed photo he was holding, forehead wrinkling in concentration as he muttered the charm to affix it to the wall.

Uncle Teddy had caught them lugging hammer, nails, and tape to their room and put his foot down. He had relented, at their identical pleading expressions, and taught them a charm that would stick their decorations to the castle walls without harming either. Scorpius, of course, performed it effortlessly on the first try. It took Al a bit more concentration, but he was determined not to let his best friend beat him, and insisted on doing half the work, even if he did find it more difficult.

Al relaxed as he felt the charm snap into place, lifting the weight of the photo out of his faintly trembling arms. He stepped back to stand beside Scorpius and tipped his head back and forth, studying their efforts. Satisfied, he nodded. _Perfect_.

Scorpius grabbed his arm then, tugging him toward the bed and flopping dramatically down onto it with a groan. “C’mon, Al. I’m _tired_.”

Al snorted, but allowed himself to be pulled down next to Scorpius. His arms _were_ pretty tired after straining to hold the pictures up all morning. He glanced around the room again, studying it from this new vantage. “It’s still missing something.”

Scorpius propped himself onto his elbows, blowing a lock of platinum hair out of his eyes and frowning. “Hmm. How about… I know!” He snapped his fingers and rolled over to hang off the bed, digging around in the box of art supplies he kept under it.

Al snorted when Scorpius emerged, face tinged pink from hanging upside down, a sheaf of multi-colored paper in his hand. “Paper?” Al asked, confused.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Origami paper. Here – look.” He bit his lip, frowning at the array of colors, then whisked a sheet of iridescent emerald paper from the stack and began folding, his long pale fingers flickering over the paper as he carefully pressed the intricate folds.

Al startled as Scorpius flicked open a fold here, pressed a crease there, and then held up a perfect tiny paper dragon. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “That’s beautiful.”

Scorpius grinned and tossed the dragon into the air. With a flick of his wand, the tiny dragon flapped its wings and rose up to dart about near the ceiling, blowing tiny jets of paper flame. “Your turn.”

Al gaped at him, then glanced pointedly down at his own fingers, shorter, stubbier, and much less clever. “No, I’d better not. I’d ruin that gorgeous paper.”

Scorpius sighed. “No you won’t. Here, I’ll help. What shall we make? Oh, I know." He pulled out another sheet of paper, this one a vibrant orange, and began directing Al’s hesitant fingers. “So,” he said, after they’d worked in comfortable silence for long enough to add several perfect dragons, a phoenix, a peacock, three unicorns, a couple of frogs, and a few somewhat lopsided cranes and rabbits to the growing menagerie near the ceiling, “how’s your dad holding up?”

Al groaned. “The same as last week, as far as I can tell.” His fingers stilled on the paper, not yet confident enough to continue without his full concentration. “Yours?”

Scorpius made a face. “The same.” His gray eyes rose to meet Al’s, clouded with worry. “They’ve not shown up to meals in weeks, now. We have to do something.”

“I know. I just don’t know what we can do. Dad won’t listen to me – I’m not sure he even really heard a word I said when we had brunch together the other day.”

“Yeah. My dad was pretty much the same way. Maybe James could help? He’s in your dad’s house…” Scorpius trailed off, frowning, as he remembered James bragging loudly in the Great Hall about how his father let him get away with his latest cruel prank. “Or maybe not.”

Al snorted humorlessly. “James has only gotten worse lately. He’s the one that started some of the more vicious rumors about Dad lately, did you know?”

Scorpius stared at him, horrified.

“Yeah, those.” Al shrugged. “Anyway, James isn’t an option. Nor any of my cousins.”

He propped his chin on his hand, thinking hard. “What about your mum?”

Scorpius shook his head. “No good. She’s off on a photo-shoot in Germany this week. And I’m pretty sure she’s going directly from there to that gallery in Prague that’s thinking of showing some of her work. She’ll help when she gets back, of course, but…”

Al nodded glumly. They really needed to do something before that.

“What about your mum?” Scorpius asked. “I thought she was keen on helping, too?”

“Oh, she is. Only she’s got some promotional thing with the Harpies for the next couple weeks.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Which just leaves – ”

A knock sounded on the doorframe they’d put up earlier, separating their room from the rest of the dormitory, and a familiar head poked through their beaded curtain.

“What are you two doing inside on such a lovely Saturday afternoon?” Teddy asked, voice hovering somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“Uncle Teddy!” Al and Scorpius exclaimed together. “We were just talking about you!”

Teddy frowned, stepping through the curtain. “Oh?”

Al grinned. “We need your help.”

“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “Our dads are being insufferable idiots.”

Teddy snorted. “What else is new?” He folded himself onto the end of the bed and studied the two of them curiously. “So, what’s going on?”

* * *

Teddy listened with growing amusement to the fragmented, somewhat confused tale. The two boys fell over themselves trying to explain, backtracking and then backtracking again. Luckily, he already knew most of it, so he wasn’t too lost, and the new details the boys provided gave him some definite ideas.

“Well,” he said, when they’d fallen silent, “I should reprimand you for meddling in your fathers’ lives like this…”

Al and Scorpius exchanged a worried glance, and Teddy couldn’t help but grin. “However, that would be rather hypocritical of me, since I’m trying to do the same thing. So. I was actually planning to meet with Headmaster Longbottom and Professor McGonagall later today about this, and I’ll definitely bring up your concerns. I’ll let you boys know if we come up with anything.”

Teddy stood up, grinning at the little green paper dragon that chose that moment to dive down and do loops around his head. “In the meantime,” he said, turning back to the two boys, “I would suggest caution. Your fathers are both a bit… volatile just now. They could do with some kindness from their sons. If you do discover anything, though, please come to me. I’ve a feeling we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Oh, and, boys?” Teddy added, already halfway through the beaded curtain.

“Yes, Uncle Teddy?”

“I love what you’ve done with the room. But, for Merlin’s sake, get outside! You could both do with some sun. And, no, Al, you may not bring a book.”

Teddy grinned to himself at the muttered grumbles, and relented. “You might find Headmaster Longbottom in the greenhouse,” he called back to them. “I believe he’s planned some sort of expedition into the Forbidden Forest this afternoon. Something about a possible colony of Columbian Venomous Creeper Vines.”

He hurried out, then, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter at the sudden flurry of excited activity behind him.


	13. Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD flashbacks; anxiety attack/panic attack/etc time distortions and shifts.

_**TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD flashbacks; anxiety attack/panic attack/etc time distortions and shifts.** _

_Monday, September 25, 2017_

Harry stomped through the Gryffindor common room, growling under his breath and scanning the alarmed students for the shock of black hair that marked his son. He'd just come from a meeting with Headmaster Longbottom, where he'd been chastised for not keeping better control of his house. He'd been incensed to learn that it was not only his _House_ that was responsible for the cruel treatment of several first-year Slytherins the previous day, but that his own _son_ had led the gang. _His son_ had been beating up _first-years_.

Harry couldn't decide if he wanted to scream or cry, but, Merlin help him, he wasn't going to stand for it. He'd not realized the extent of James' cruel streak, but it was going to stop, and it was going to stop _now._

Harry's thoughts stuttered to a halt as he caught sight of James' dark hair. Or, more specifically, James himself, snogging his girlfriend in one of the armchairs pulled up beside the fire. Snogging his girlfriend, who was wrapped indecently around him, and who reminded Harry uncomfortably of Lavender Brown.

And just like that, the room shivered around him and Harry was hurled 19 years into the past, just after the war, watching Ron snogging Lavender. Watching Ron snogging Lavender, and sitting resentfully by himself in the corner, forgotten, wishing fervently for Hermione's quiet company. But Hermione had opted to take the exams instead of returning for their last year of classes, and was halfway across the world in a prestigious foreign-exchange program. And loving it, if her occasional owls were any indication.

Of course, Harry knew well enough how easy it was to pretend in their letters. He did it himself. But he rather thought Hermione's enthusiasm was sincere. He wished he could have gone with her, but… Unlike her, he'd needed this last year of classes. Hermione's exam scores were as perfect as ever; his were abysmal. He just couldn't concentrate, it turned out, without the threat of imminent death hanging over him.

Harry slammed back into the present, shaking, and turned abruptly on his heel. He would just have to deal with James later. He was in no shape to do it now. He got a few confused looks from his students as he bolted for his room, but didn't bother to try to save face. He had to get out of there.

He leaned back against the door the moment he was safely hidden inside his room, pressing his fist to his mouth to hold back the strangled sobs. He'd thought he'd got past this years ago. It was supposed to be over. They'd _told_ him it was over.

Harry slumped to the floor and curled into himself, too tired to make it across the room. He felt his body shaking as his mind splintered, confusing past and present. _Get a grip_ , he told himself fiercely. _Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip…_

He'd gone into Auror training, once he'd graduated. It was what he was supposed to do; what everyone had expected him to do. He and Ron would be Aurors, would reform the department and shine a light into all the Ministry's dark corners, would flush the remaining Death Eaters out of hiding. But in all the congratulations and well-wishes, no one had ever bothered to ask Harry what _he_ wanted to do.

Of course, he hadn't bothered to ask himself, either. So he'd shown up to Auror training that first day, confused and a little sick, Ron bouncing with excitement beside him. The orientation was, frankly, underwhelming, but it was OK. He was OK. He could do this.

The first day of practical, their teacher had shot a spell at him. Nothing special – a minor itching hex. He could have deflected it in his sleep. Which, as it happened, was the problem. Because as the spell winged toward him, Harry had snapped back in time, back to the battlefield, surrounded by smoke and the stench of death.

He hadn't thought – he'd fired back, purely on instinct. And he'd been horrified when, a second later, the muddy battlefield had disappeared, leaving the sterile training room, their instructor bleeding out on the floor.

The instructor had survived, thank Merlin. It had taken a few weeks in St. Mungos, but he'd been all right. Harry hadn't. They'd assured him it was a fluke, that the instructor should have known better, attacking battle-hardened trainees without warning. Harry had pretended to believe them.

But, then it had happened again. And again.

When Kingsley had asked him gently if he needed to take a few weeks off, Harry had squared his shoulders and told him no thanks, he was dropping out. Kingsley had patted him gently on the shoulder and given him directions to a mind-healer.

Harry had gone, in the end. And it had helped. He'd thought he was done with all that.

Ron hadn't forgiven him. He, of course, had had no difficulties with training – had come out on top by the end of the year. He'd become the Auror department's rising star – rumor had him in the running for Head Auror, now that Robards was retiring. Harry didn't doubt he'd be a great one. He could admit, with his usual self-deprecating humor, that flaming out of training had probably been the best thing he could do for Ron's career. He thought that, deep down, Ron knew it, too. But he still hadn't forgiven Harry for "abandoning" him.

He'd had a colossal row with Hermione about it – one of many colossal rows they'd had that year – and Harry felt the familiar stab of guilt that he was one of the reasons they'd broken it off. Of course, he knew, from Ginny, that Lavender Brown was the perfect supportive wife, and that she and Ron were very happy together. And he knew Hermione was ecstatically happy with Pansy – strange as that still seemed – who she'd connected with when she returned from her exchange program and settled on studying law. They'd met in a muggle law program, of all things – though Harry could see the appeal of the muggle program, where Pansy's sordid wizarding past was irrelevant, now that he thought about it.

He wished, suddenly, that he and Hermione hadn't drifted apart over the years. She didn't resent him, like Ron did, but their lives had been so different. She and Pansy had been busy setting up their law practice while he'd been home with the kids, and they'd slowly found they didn't have anything to talk about anymore.

Harry closed his eyes wearily. He'd lost his best friends, lost his wife, lost Draco before he'd gotten to really know him… _Lost James,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind, thinking of his son sneering the last time Harry had tried to connect with him. The way he'd twisted Harry's words, starting vicious rumors and turning his classmates away from the truths Harry had tried to give them, about the war.

Harry whimpered softly and curled tighter into himself, shivering a bit as the chill of the flagstones seeped into his body, leaching away the warmth and sapping what little strength he had. He felt his sense of time go fuzzy again, heard the screams and explosions of battle echoing inside his head, and he focused his energy, shoved them back. The physical wounds had healed long ago; even the scars had faded. But the wounds in his head were stubborn.

The mind healer had helped him to wall them off, but they still broke free now and again. That last visit, she'd told him gently that there was nothing more that she could do – the rest was up to him. He had to _want_ to heal. He'd protested then that of _course_ he wanted to, but she'd only smiled at him, a bit sadly, and patted his shoulder. He'd been turning her words over in the back of his mind ever since. That somewhere, deep inside, he was holding on to the memories of that battle, because he still believed that was who he was, what he needed to do. That he would never be free of the memories until he accepted that his role in that war was in the past. That he needed to let it go in order to move on. He'd begun to believe she was right, and, more importantly, that he'd never be able to let it go. If he wasn't the bloody Boy Who Lived, then who was he? Who was _Harry_?

The fact that he'd not slept well in weeks, and had barely eaten, and drunk more Firewhisky than was strictly prudent, probably didn't help. Madam Pomfrey had firmly denied his request for more Dreamless Sleep, when he'd run out a few weeks ago, and he hadn't been able to contact his usual sources from inside the castle. He was quickly losing the ability to tell what was real, and he was powerless to stop it.

He didn't realize for some time that the muffled thumps he heard weren't echoes of explosions 19 years in the past, but someone knocking on his door in the present. He was still trying to wrap his head around the concept when a muffled curse came from outside and the door disintegrated.

Harry stared disbelieving through the floating dust particles – that had, not 20 seconds ago, been a perfectly good door – at the forbidding spectre of Minerva McGonagall looming over him.

"Mister Potter!"

Harry, in the face of McGonagall's appalled expression, did the only thing he could think of. He laughed.

He laughed until his sides ached, until hysterical tears ran down his cheeks, until he could feel his jaw crack. He laughed with the desperation of the slightly unhinged, with the conviction that if he could just hold onto the laughter, everything would turn out to be funny after all. He could hear McGonagall, dimly, repeating "Mister Potter!" from where she stood above him. And he laughed.


	14. Trauma

_Monday, September 25, 2017_

Draco stalked back to his rooms from the Headmaster’s office, seething with anger. How _dare_ Potter’s brat attack his Slytherins like that? _First-years_ , no less. Draco squeezed his hands into fists, imagining wrapping them around the smug little menace’s neck. He knew that Potter had been in to see Headmaster Longbottom earlier; he’d seen the stricken look on Potter’s face as he’d left, without seeming to see Draco at all. And _that_ told him all he needed to know about Potter’s state of mind. On the one hand, it made him feel a bit better – at least Potter wasn’t condoning such abysmal behavior. On the other… did Potter have any control over his House – or his son – at all?

He’d half a mind to stomp over to Potter’s door and demand an explanation. Maybe even demand reparations. Except that that would mean breaking his “no talking to Potter” rule. _Damn._ Maybe it would be worth it, though. That hadn’t been a mere schoolboy prank – Draco had engineered enough of those in his day to know. There had been genuine malice there, and those first-years were lucky they hadn’t been killed. _Potter_ was lucky they hadn’t been killed.

Draco rounded the corner into the corridor leading to his room – and Potter’s; he still hadn’t ruled out pounding on his door. In fact, that sounded rather fun –

Draco was abruptly jarred from his thoughts by a shout and the astonishing sight of Potter’s door imploding. He froze, riveted by the sight of McGonagall striding through the resulting cloud of dust, and by… Draco blinked. Potter. Curled on the floor in front of his door, apparently in shock. Potter. Staring up at McGonagall with wide, frightened eyes. Potter. Convulsing with laughter.

Draco abruptly slumped back against the wall, staring, as McGonagall frowned down at an inexplicably hysterical Potter, as she sent a Patronus whisking away down the corridor, as Madam Pomfrey came bustling in with Susan Bones, and the two of them floated Potter away down the hall.

McGonagall waved her wand and restored Potter’s door, then turned on her heel. Draco reached out without thinking and caught the sleeve of her robe, gulping as she trained indignant steely eyes on him and he realized what he’d done.

“Sorry, Professor,” he whispered, quickly letting her sleeve fall and dropping his gaze to the floor.

He saw, just before he did, the moment McGonagall bit back her automatic sharp retort, replacing it with a clipped “Yes, Mister Malfoy? I’m afraid I’m a bit busy, at the moment.”

“Yes, Professor,” he said hurriedly. “I mean, no, Professor. I mean – ”

McGonagall sighed. “Out with it young man.”

Draco felt his lip twitch, amused at the notion that he was still a “young man” to her, at nearly 40. It gave him the courage to ask, “Professor, what happened? Is Potter…” He trailed off, uncertain what he intended to follow that with, and McGonagall placed a thin – but still firm – hand on his shoulder, patting gently.

“He’ll be all right, Mister Malfoy. He’s been a foolish boy, and neglected himself of late, and he had a bit of a shock – we think he triggered some leftover trauma from the war. It’s nothing Madam Pomfrey and Miss Bones haven’t seen before.”

Draco nodded, closing his eyes. Not good news, then, but not bad either. He swayed on his feet, suddenly bone-weary. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten…

McGonagall shook his shoulder gently, then fixed him with a gimlet eye when he looked up at her. “You’ve been neglecting yourself too, Mister Malfoy. Do us all a favor and get some food and rest, now. We can’t have all of you dropping like flies – the school won’t run itself, you know.”

Draco nodded vaguely, watched her stride down the hall with a brisk energy that reminded him of how very weary he was. He fumbled his key in the lock a few times, trying to open his door, and when he finally managed, he stumbled straight to his bed and collapsed on it.

Some minutes later, he was still sitting there. The image of Potter, curled up on the floor, wouldn’t leave his head – it was burned onto his retinas, vivid and painful. “Leftover trauma from the war,” McGonagall had said. Draco snorted. They all had that, didn’t they? He thought of what his mother had whispered to him, one night soon after they’d returned to the Manor.

“He died, Draco. I lied to the Dark Lord for him, yes, when I told him he was dead _at that moment_. But it wasn’t entirely a lie. He really did die, if only for a moment. Do me a favor, Draco, and look into his eyes, one day, when you’re back at school. Really look at him. That boy carries shadows in his eyes, now.”

Draco dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Of _course_ the git had trauma. They all had trauma. But, once again, Potter had to be special. He had to have “I died for a minute, but I’m back now” trauma. Draco sighed heavily, gaze dropping to rest, as usual, on the inky black mark that marred his pale skin. He _hated_ that mark. Hated it more than anything, because it was a reminder of his failures, his weakness. Draco was a weak man, and he knew it. Merlin, did he know it. And, because of his stupidity, and his father’s blind ambition, it was written on his arm for all and sundry to see. He wondered if he should have another tattoo done. On his forehead maybe. “Draco Lucius Malfoy is a weak, pathetic excuse for a man.” Yes, that ought to do it.

As always happened, when the war came up, Draco’s thoughts turned maudlin. He replayed his memories again, turning over each moment, each choice, and looking for one he could have made differently. Looking for a key moment where he could have made a choice that would have made a difference. That could have lessened the destruction and suffering. As always, he couldn’t find one. As always, that didn’t stop him from spending half the night searching. When he finally drifted off to sleep, somewhere in the early hours of the morning, his mind was still frantically spinning. He dreamed of the battlefield. Of churned mud and blood, the pop of broken bones, the sizzle of burnt flesh, the screams and flares of light that lit up the night in neon pulses of red, green, yellow… the sickly green light of the killing curse.

He woke with a start, his vision tinged with echoes of green, the shadow of a scream on his lips. He lay there, rigid and wracked with shudders, until the pale pre-dawn light brightened and the rays of early-morning sun chased the remnants of the dream away.


	15. Have A Biscuit, Potter

_Tuesday, September 26, 2017_

Harry blinked blearily, frowning as he squinted at the vaguely human blur that bustled around his bedside. He was in the hospital wing - he recognized the smell. He’d spent a lot of time in here, during his school years. The blur tutted and pressed a phial into his hand.

“Bottoms up, Mr. Potter”

Harry scowled at the phial suspiciously, but after several long minutes spent scrutinizing the sludge-like liquid inside, he was forced to admit that he still knew next-to-nothing about potions. He shrugged, deciding the philosophical approach was best, and tipped the sludge into his mouth.

The blur made a pleased sound and exchanged Harry’s glasses for the now-empty phial.

Harry jammed the glasses onto his nose, ignoring the way they hung slightly crookedly, and felt a small smile tug at his lips as the familiar form of Madam Pomfrey swam into view. “Hullo, Poppy,” he said cheerfully. “Any idea what I’m doing here?”

Madam Pomfrey snorted and rested her hands on her hips. “You’re resting, Mr. Potter, after a nasty bout of self-imposed flashbacks.”

“Self-imposed!” Harry prepared to defend his honor (he hand’t _wanted_ to fight in the war, thankyouverymuch) but Pomfrey held up a hand to stop him.

“What I mean,” she said wearily, “is that you have spent far too long eating and sleeping far too little. And the sleep you _have_ been getting…” She broke off, shaking her head.

“Do you know what triggered it?” Harry asked. He thought back to the day before, that awful meeting with Neville, going to confront James… “Argh!” Harry clutched his head, squinting against the sharp flare of pain.

Madam Pomfrey was at his side in an instant, clucking and offering a potion that dulled the pain, and pressing him back into his bed. “Don’t _do_ that!” she scolded. “I’ve put up temporary psychic walls to block off the memories - and pain - for now, but you’re going to have to deal with all those repressed emotions one of these days.”

Harry shrugged, sitting up again. That was something he’d happily put off for later. “So, when can I leave?”

“Harry James Potter! You will stay here _in this bed_ for the next few days at the very _least_ so I can wean you off of that Dreamless Sleep safely.”

Harry scowled at her, but she scowled right back. “You _know_ how dangerous it is, I know you do! Why didn’t you come to me in the first place?”

Harry sighed. He wasn’t sure, really, except that he didn’t think he’d been thinking straight lately. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy around the edges. Scratch that - everything seemed a lot fuzzy around the edges. He swayed slightly, as everything seemed to tilt sideways.

Pomfrey sighed. “That will be the pain potion kicking in. Now, do us both a favor and lie back in that bed. Or I’ll be forced to _make_ you.”

Harry sighed again, but lay back against the pillows without further protest. He was tired, and he could feel the potion spreading its soothing warmth through his veins, and it sounded like far too much effort to try and sneak out. He’d take a nap first, and wait for Pomfrey to be distracted.

Harry had only just felt the gentle tug of sleep on the edges of his senses when the door to the hospital wing slammed open and Professor McGonagall strode inside.

“Mister Potter,” she said briskly, “how are you feeling?”

Madam Pomfrey bustled over then, scowling as she wiped her hands on her scrupulously clean apron. “Now, Minerva, I’ve only just given Mister Potter his potions, and he really needs rest right now - “

McGonagall cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I won’t be long. Did you find that file I asked you about?”

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, glancing at Harry.

“It’s all right,” he said, voice coming out a touch slower than he would have liked.

Pomfrey’s frown deepened, but she nodded. “I’ll fetch _that file_ now,” she said, already walking back toward her office.

McGonagall stood watching until Pomfrey was several feet away, and then turned her attention to Harry. He squirmed under her impassive gaze, waiting for the lecture. But it never came. Instead, McGonagall pulled a small tin from the pocket of her robe and, with a tap of her wand, enlarged it into what was clearly a biscuit tin. She opened the lid and selected one with what appeared to Harry to be excessive care. She held it up, frowning, for a moment, then popped the whole thing into her mouth at once, and broke out into the biggest smile Harry had ever seen her wear. He watched, fascinated, as she delicately wiped her lips, with a lace handkerchief he suspected she’d conjured, and held the tin toward him, smile fainter, but still there. “Have a biscuit, Potter,” she said, waving the tin a bit.

Harry felt his lips quirk up as he did as she directed. When he was happily munching - McGonagall always had the most extraordinary biscuits, far better than Dumbledore’s ever-present lemon drops - McGonagall set the tin to the side and looked searchingly at him. “Mister Potter,” she began, then paused, frowning. “Harry. I realize that you are no longer a student under my care, but I cannot help feel at least a bit responsible for your health. No, don’t interrupt, please. I know the war was hard on you Harry - harder on you, than on most of us. And I know that your first few weeks as a professor here have been… less than ideal.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you, Harry - as is Headmaster Longbottom - if you ever need to talk about it. About anything, really. I owe you that. We all do.” She sniffed and straightened her spine, shrinking the biscuit tin and tucking it back into her robes. “Do as Poppy says, Mister Potter,” she said, steel back in her voice. “She can help you, but only if you let yourself be helped.”

Harry nodded wearily, knowing there was no use arguing. And, he reflected, as Professor McGonagall strode briskly to the door, he probably did need the help. He lay back on his pillows, relaxing into the quiet stillness of the empty ward, and watched the late afternoon sunlight play along the wall as he felt the warmth of the potion creeping over him once more. This time, no one interrupted, and he let sleep claim him.

* * *

Harry was tugged from that peaceful sleep some time later, by the quiet squeak of shoes on the stone floor. He stilled, instantly alert, but left his eyes closed as awareness flooded back into him. He instantly knew it wasn’t Madam Pomfrey, who walked near-silently on her rubber-soled shoes, nor Professor McGonagall, whose heels clicked a brisk staccato on the castle floors. Harry wondered who it could be, but, as it turned out, he didn’t have to wonder long

“You’re such an _idiot_ Potter,” ranted the unmistakeable, slightly nasal tones of Draco Malfoy. “Honestly. You should have at least managed to pack enough Dreamless Sleep, if you were going to use it every night. Of course you weren’t going to be able to get any here. And,” Malfoy continued sharply, “you shouldn’t be using it _at all_ , really, much less nearly every night!” He paused, suddenly, and when he spoke again the words were much softer. “Of course, I can’t really fault you for that. Oh, yes, Potter, very good. I use it too. Have to, you see, ever since - well. You know all about that, I suppose.”

Malfoy fell silent, and Harry itched to open his eyes and see what expression was on that pointy face. Though, he had to admit, it wasn’t really all that pointy anymore. Malfoy was still lean, but not in the skeletal way he’d been the last few years of school. He was more… whipcord thin, Harry decided, all muscle and restrained power, and not an inch of fat on him. Harry’s body suddenly took an interest, and Harry realized he had to stop that line of thought before Malfoy realized he was awake.

Malfoy obliged him by speaking again, giving a relieved Harry something else to focus on.

“I didn’t mean to do it, you know,” he said softly. “I just… you were so _insistent_ , Potter, and I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know how to open up and let people in. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had to even try. And it’s hard because… well, you’re _dangerous_ , Harry. You make me feel things that I would really rather not. It’s blasted inconvenient, really. And - ”

Harry, realizing he needed to stop Malfoy before he revealed something he probably wouldn’t want to, cleared his dry throat and rasped “Didn’t know you cared, Malfoy.” He opened his eyes to find wide grey ones staring back into his from rather closer than he’d expected.

Malfoy startled, jumping out of the chair and moving swiftly toward the door. “I should go.”

Harry surprised himself by sitting up - rather too quickly, as it happened, and he groaned at the sudden pain that bloomed along his ribs. He ignored it in favor of stopping Malfoy from leaving. “No! No - please stay.”

Malfoy stopped, hand on the doorknob, and stared at him. His brows drew down and he chewed his lower lip as he wavered. “All right,” he finally said, blowing a few loose strands of cornsilk hair out of his eyes.

Harry felt an overwhelming urge to card his fingers through that hair, feel if it was really as soft as it looked, but he tamped it down ruthlessly. His idiotic crush on Malfoy wouldn’t do him any favors here.

Just as the uncomfortable silence was becoming unbearable, Malfoy snorted softly, and Harry felt nervous laughter bubbling out of him. “Sorry about my House,” he said earnestly, peering up at Malfoy from under his lashes. “And about my - about James.”

Draco closed his eyes, nodding. He didn’t say anything. Harry, momentarily distracted by the way “Malfoy” had become “Draco” again, quite without his noticing, felt all the words he shouldn’t say rushing toward his lips, and he knew he’d never be able to hold them in. He let out a huff of self-deprecating laugher. “He doesn’t listen to me - never has.” And once those words were out, it was as if a dam broke suddenly open inside of him, and all the words he’d been keeping locked inside burst out, spilling from his lips in a damning stream. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Draco’s tentative smile turn mocking. He expected Draco to laugh, or make fun of him, or walk away. But he just - listened.

He talked and talked, and Draco let him. When the words dried up, and Harry was left panting and empty, staring at him numbly, Draco reached out and gripped his shoulder gently. He sat there, with Harry, simply existing in the face of shared experience and pain. And it was enough.

When Draco rose, some hour or so later, and turned to go, he squeezed Harry’s shoulder gently. He didn’t say a word.

As the echoes of Draco’s footfalls faded away, Harry drifted off into the first peaceful, unmedicated sleep he’d had in a very long time.


	16. Lunch Date

_Wednesday, September 27, 2017  
_

Draco floated through his classes the following day in a daze. He had no idea what he was saying, if he made any sense at all - his mind was still back in the hospital wing with Harry.

And he was Harry now, damn him. Draco scowled fiercely, frustrated at himself for being unable to stay away. He was startled by a terrified squeak, and he looked down in surprise at the first-year whose potion he was staring at. She was cowering away from him. He sighed. "Oh for heavens - I'm not going to bite, Miss Leatherwood. Now, what color is this, uh," he glanced at her notes, which were legible and thorough, thank Merlin, since he didn't have a clue what they were making, "burn salve supposed to be?"

She squeaked again. "Um," she stuttered, trembling slightly, "g-gold, sir."

Draco sighed. "No, Miss Leatherwood." He tapped a pale finger onto the line in her notes which clearly described the color. "Red-gold. There's a difference."

She frowned and peered into her cauldron, forgetting her terror. "There is?"

Draco snorted. "Yes. Gold would, in this case, indicate a mediocre brewing. Unfortunately, your potion is neither."

She bit her lip. "What color is it then?"

Draco stared at her. "Miss Leatherwood. Your potion is a truly violent shade of orange."

She frowned. "Oh."

Realization hit, and Draco sighed. "You're colorblind."

"Yes, sir," she said softly. "I think – I think I might be."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. All right, Miss Leatherwood. You have," he cast a quick tempus, "thirty minutes until lunch, yes?" She nodded. "Good. I want you to go directly to the hospital wing. Tell Miss Bones that you need an eye exam."

"But…" She bit her lip again, looking at the ingredients scattered across her table.

"Don't worry about that," Draco said, waving a hand impatiently. "I dare say I can manage to clean one workbench. And you'll need to be able to distinguish colors if you're to get on in potions at all."

She nodded gratefully, grabbed her bag, and slipped out of the classroom.

Draco turned back to the class, all of whom were staring at him instead of watching their potions. He sighed. "Mister Bulstrode, I estimate you have approximately twenty seconds to add the powdered dragon scale before your potion explodes."

The students turned hurriedly back to their work, and Draco pressed his lips firmly together to prevent the smile from escaping. He made quick work of setting Miss Leatherwood's desk to rights, only to discover that she'd left her potions notes behind.

* * *

Draco wavered for a moment, suddenly unsure. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, bringing the notes to the hospital wing. He knew Miss Leatherwood wouldn't be done with the exam yet. It was only logical that he bring her notes here. She might need them, after all, before tomorrow's class. And yet…

Draco's traitorous feet carried him into the room before he realized it, and he was abruptly confronted with the "and yet" - all blazing green eyes and tight expression. He held the sheaf of parchment up quickly, a feeble shield against that gaze, but all he had.

"Miss Leatherwood left her potions notes when she came for her eye exam. I was just bringing them to her."

The tiny girl bounced into the room just then, dark pigtails swinging jauntily. "Hullo, Professor Malfoy," she said, puzzled. "Did I forget something?"

He smiled at her. "Yes, as a matter of fact. These." He held out the sheaf of parchment, and she blushed.

"Oops. Thanks."

"My pleasure, Miss Leatherwood."

She nodded shyly, flicking her gaze to Harry and then ducking her head. "I should go," she said suddenly, "or I'll be late for lunch."

She sounded so scandalized, Draco couldn't help but laugh. "Well, we wouldn't want that. Go on, then."

She flashed him a bright smile. "See ya, Professor!"

Draco snorted as she bounced out the door. "Goodbye, Miss Leatherwood."

When he turned back to Harry, he found him sporting an amused grin. "What?" he asked defensively.

Harry's grin widened. "I didn't know you had it in you, Draco."

Draco pretended he didn't notice what Harry had called him, even as he felt a prickle of warmth run through him. "Well. Now I've got that sorted, I suppose I should get to lunch myself. Have a nice day, er, Harry." He felt himself flushing as he said it, and scowled.

Harry just laughed, free and easy. "Don't run away, Draco." He indicated the chair beside his bed. "I was just about to have lunch myself. Join me?"

Draco hesitated. All his alarms were screaming at him that this was a terrible idea. He'd fallen under Harry's spell once before, and that was before the git figured out how to be charming. And yet…

Sighing, Draco flopped down into the chair.

Harry looked surprised, just for an instant, but he quickly covered it with a smirk.

"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself," Draco said, "I'm here already - seems easier is all."

"Whatever you say," Harry said, still smirking.

The house elves showed up then, with two trays of food and two steaming cups of tea. Draco raised the tea to his lips, eyeing Harry suspiciously over the rim, but he looked as surprised as Draco felt - and he accepted one of the trays with a shrug. His wandering gaze suddenly settled on Madam Pomfrey, lurking in the doorway of her office, and he snorted and raised his teacup to her. She raised an eyebrow at him in response and disappeared into her office.

* * *

_Thursday, September 28, 2017_

Draco found himself outside the hospital wing again the next day, come lunchtime, and spent a solid ten minutes cursing himself for a fool. In the end, he went in, shoving through the door with just a bit more force than necessary.

Harry looked up at him, a question in his eyes. "I thought you weren't coming."

Draco looked at the twin trays, sitting on the end of his bed, and his heart contracted painfully. He scolded himself, telling himself that it was just Madam Pomfrey meddling, and he didn't need her complicating things thankyouverymuch. Unfortunately, he didn't believe himself.

"So," Draco said awkwardly, as he worked his way through the treacle tart, "how have you been?"

Harry stared at him for a good minute as he chewed and swallowed, and Draco felt a faint heat flare in his cheeks. "Bored," Harry said finally. "I've been sitting in this blasted bed all morning. Pomfrey won't even allow me any books to read - says I shouldn't strain myself - and don't you dare laugh."

Draco felt his cheeks pull tight as he tried - and failed - to hold back his smile. "Not saying a word."

"So," Harry said after a moment of strained silence, "what about you?"

Draco sighed and ticked off the events of the morning on his fingers. "Three potions violently exploded, seven more botched in ways more incompetent than Longbottom ever managed, two cases of singed eyebrows, twelve students who mixed up the order of the steps and managed to turn one another interesting shades of purple, and one who turned his hair a truly shocking shade of pink. I really have no idea how he managed that one." He frowned, feeling as if he were forgetting something. "Oh. And four cauldrons rendered completely unusable. _Four_ , Harry. One of them was _melted_."

Harry tore his eyes away from where they'd been intently focused on Draco's fingers and cleared his throat awkwardly. "That sounds… eventful."

"Hmmm." Draco felt his breath coming quicker, his heart beating faster, warmth suffusing his body from somewhere deep inside…

"I have to go."

He stood abruptly, nearly upsetting his tray in his haste. Harry frowned at him.

"Now?"

"Yes." Draco drew himself up straighter, settling his haughty calm about his shoulders like a cloak. "I do have classes to teach this afternoon, Potter. I can't laze about all day like you."

He saw Harry's face fall and turned quickly, stalking out of the room before he relented. He really did have to get to class, he realized, walking faster. The lunch period had seemed to fly by much faster than it usually did. Of course, he was usually eating alone and pretending to read.

It wasn't until class had started that he realized he'd left the book he habitually carried to lunch by Harry's bed. Draco swore under his breath. He didn't have time to get it now. He toyed with the idea of just leaving it there, of waiting until Harry was released to reclaim it. But, no, he needed it before then. He would just have to go back for it later and hope that Harry was asleep.


	17. Dinner Date

_Thursday, September 28, 2017  
_

Draco stared at the clock, drumming his fingers on his desktop, jiggling his knee, and willing the seconds to tick by faster. He couldn't remember a class dragging on nearly so long - not even History of Magic on Binns' driest days. He cast a discreet _tempus_ under his desk and sighed. Nineteen more minutes. Tap. Tap. Tap. Seventeen. Tap. Tap. Tap. Twelve. Tap. Tap. T-

Draco stopped himself from casting another _tempus_ with a grimace. This was ridiculous.

"All right, pack up your things."

"Professor?" His third-years goggled at him. "But... but there's ten minutes left until-"

Draco sighed. "Yes, yes. Surely you've been let out early before?"

They stared blankly up at him.

"Go on! Or I'll keep you through dinner, since you're so keen to stay."

He wouldn't, of course. That would be excruciating for all of them. Luckily he must have sounded like he meant it, because his students packed up and were out the door in record time.

Draco sat frozen at his desk for a long minute, then shook himself irritably. "What are you waiting for?" he asked the empty desks. "It's just _Potter_."

He squared his shoulders and strode through the corridors, determined not to let Potter get to him. Or at least not to show that he did, the git.

He paused outside the hospital wing, stooping to peek through the keyhole. He felt rather ridiculous, and no doubt looked it, but the hall was deserted. Potter's eyes were closed - with any luck he was sleeping and Draco could sneak the book out without his noticing. Yes, there it was, on the chair by the bed. Where he'd left it.

 _Right_. Draco eased the door open and slipped through. He froze at the nearly-inaudible creak, then relaxed when Potter didn't stir. Slowly, cautiously, he tiptoed closer to Potter's bed. He was so close - just another few steps. One, two...

"Hullo, Draco."

Draco jumped, startled, and overbalanced. He grabbed frantically for something - anything - to break his fall, and his searching fingers closed around something warm and solid. Draco took a shaky breath, steadying himself. Then the warmth of the thing he had grabbed registered, and he felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck. He counted backwards from ten, trying desperately to control his pulse, which had leaped like a panicky deer and was now fluttering frantically beneath Harry's fingers - fingers which had wrapped firmly around his wrist as he'd grasped at Harry's arm. Giving it up as an exercise in futility, he raised his eyes to Harry's.

"Um. Hi."

Harry's eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Draco's traitorous pulse leaped again.

"Come to join me for dinner?" he asked, voice warm and smooth.

 _Chocolate_ , Draco thought faintly, _he sounds like_ _melted chocolate._ He shook himself, appalled. "Er. No. That is - I just came for my book." He glared at it, sitting smugly in the chair, then reached out his right hand and swiped it, holding it close to his chest as he tried to tug the left from Harry's grip.

Harry just held on tighter. "Oh? It looks as though the house-elves, at least, were expecting you to eat here." He nodded to the twin trays that had appeared on the small table by his bed.

Draco sighed. _Bloody Pomfrey. This is all her fault, I'm sure._ He glanced around, suddenly suspicious that she was spying on them, but if she was, he couldn't see her. He still couldn't get his hand away, so he decided to just give in. He slumped down into his chair, dropping the book to the floor. Served it right. He tugged at his hand again.

" _Harry_. How am I supposed to eat without my hand?"

"Oh, so you _are_ staying. Good." The grip on his wrist loosened, but it tightened again before Draco could pull free. "Unless you're just being a sneaky Slytherin, luring me into a false sense of security and all that, and you're going to run for it the moment I let go."

Draco scowled at him, refusing to admit that that was exactly what he'd been planning. "Of course not. My dinner's here already, isn't it? Git," he added, as an afterthought.

Harry laughed. "Prat." His voice held amusement, but no malice. He let go of Draco's wrist and Draco pulled it back quickly, rubbing it as if Harry had hurt it, and trying his best to ignore the tingling warmth that still buzzed just under the skin Harry had touched.

"Well. Let's eat, then."

* * *

It was late when Draco left the hospital wing, book tucked securely under one arm and small, pleased smile lingering on his face. Madam Pomfrey had shooed him out, tutting about Harry needing his rest, and ridiculous overgrown boys that think they're too old to sleep. Draco was sure he'd seen her trying to hide a smile when she'd walked in to find him and Harry embroiled in a passionate discussion about one of their past quidditch matches, arguing heatedly about whether either of them had cheated, and who _really_ should have won the match.

He hadn't realized he could have so much _fun_ with Harry - especially not while talking about such a turbulent and difficult time for them both. They'd steered clear of any mention of the war - it was too early for that, yet - but their cautious, tentative friendship was beginning to feel real. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and Draco was torn between twin impulses to draw closer to Harry's warmth and run far, far away.

He still didn't know which would be better, as he felt sleep claim him. His last fuzzy, half-coherent thought was that he hadn't taken his customary dose of dreamless sleep - specially brewed to allow him to use it much more regularly and long-term than the standard variety. He didn't remember the last time he'd been able to sleep without it.

* * *

_Friday, September 29, 2017_

Draco had expected dreams - nightmares - to plague his sleep, but he woke up feeling oddly refreshed. And... free. Lighter. Even happy.

He stared bemusedly at his toes, long and pale, like the rest of him, as they dangled over the edge of the bed. He'd frozen halfway out of bed when his thoughts had caught up with him.

He stretched, wincing slightly as his joints popped, then feeling his mouth tug into a wide smile once more as he realized that many of his customary aches and pains were gone. He felt so... alive. He grabbed his wand, spelled the small window open, suddenly craving fresh air. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his lungs expanding, stretching. A slight breeze curled lazily through his room, stirring the long-still air into whispery currents. He caught a whiff of something in the air - something that he couldn't identify, but that hinted at autumn.

The breeze seemed to stir through his head, then, turning over stale thoughts and whisking into musty corners, bringing with it memories of crisp, cool days, the forbidden forest blazing with reds and golds and oranges as the leaves changed color, and most of all cloudless skies, an endless expanse of blue stretching as far as the eye could see and beckoning.

Draco leaped out of bed, casting a quick _tempus_ as he hastily pulled on the first articles of clothing his fingers touched. He had time. It was early yet - earlier than he usually woke. He cast a hasty cleaning charm, too impatient to fuss with his customary shower, and rummaged in his trunk until he unearthed his broom.

He hadn't flown in so long.

He eyed it, suddenly unsure. He didn't know if he _could_ fly, now. He hadn't, he suddenly realized, since - well. Since the fire. Since Harry had saved him.

But he still packed the broom wherever he went, by force of habit, and it lay there, waiting. The breeze teased him again, ruffling his hair. _Right._

Snatching up the broom in one hand, his gloves in the other, Draco strode out of his room and out the front doors. He paused, lifting his face, basking in the early morning rays of sun. They warmed his cheeks, which were instantly cooled by the playful breeze, and Draco laughed.

He threw one leg over the handle of his broom and hurled himself into the sky. The breeze, delighted, ruffled his hair affectionately as he re-acquainted himself with his broom, and then challenged him to a race. Draco, never one to back down, bent low over his broom and shot through the morning air with a whoop.

He loved this. Flying. He couldn't imagine, now, how he had he ever given it up.

* * *

He was late to breakfast, windblown and pink-cheeked, and he felt his fellow teachers - and many of his students - staring at him. He tried to fix his face into his customary scowl, but his mouth kept tugging up against his will. Madam Pomfrey met his eye then and winked at him, and he gave up. He nodded back at her, allowing his mouth to curve up into the smile he couldn't seem to suppress. She raised a brow at him and smiled back, expression sly. He wondered, suddenly, if she'd been a Slytherin.

* * *

Classes passed in a blur, and soon Draco found his feet carrying him once more to the hospital wing. His dinner was waiting when he arrived, and his exasperated frown dissolved under Harry's hopeful gaze.

A little voice in the back of his head was screaming that this was _bad - very bad_. Draco didn't care. He'd spent far too much time listening to that gloomy little voice. He didn't know how long this was going to last - didn't even know what this _was_ , really - but he'd be damned if he was going to throw away the only thing that had made him truly happy in years.


	18. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

_Saturday, September 30, 2017_

“Hey, Al?” Scorpius asked.

“Hmm?”

“Can we go to lunch now? I’m starving!’

“Just a few more minutes… hold still! Merlin.”

“But A-al.”

Al rolled his eyes. “Patience Sco-orp!”

There was a knock at their “door” and Teddy poked his head through the beaded curtain. “Can I come in?”

“Sure!” Scorpius hopped down from the bed. Al rolled his eyes, but shut his sketchbook.

“What’s up, Uncle Teddy?”

“Not much. What are you boys working on in here?”

“Er, nothing?”

“Right.”

Scorpius bit his lip. “Are you here to give us the lecture about going outside again, Uncle Teddy?”

Teddy laughed. “Like you’d listen any better this time. No, I actually came to deliver a message.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Let’s see…” He drew a deep breath. “Headmaster Longbottom told me to tell you that Professor McGonagall told him that Madam Pomfrey told her that your fathers have been eating meals together in the hospital wing, and that if you hurry you might be able to join them for a bit.”

There was silence for a moment, as the three of them stared at one another, sorting through the tangle of words, and then Scorpius shouted “Come on, Al!” and tugged him out the door, Teddy’s laughter chasing after them.

* * *

They burst into the hospital wing, panting, to find their fathers staring at them. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, wiping her hands. “Not a moment’s peace around here, I swear. All right. Which of you is it this time?”

“Er, what?” Scorpius asked, frowning.

“I’ve no time for games, lads; this is my lunch break too. Now, which of you needs patching up?”

“Teddy said - ” Scorpius started, and then “oof!” as Al elbowed him in the stomach.

“What my friend here was trying to say,” Al said, glaring at Scorpius, “is that Uncle Teddy - er, Professor Lupin, that is - gave us your message. He asked us to tell you that’s fine.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned at him for a second, and then her face cleared. “Ah. Right. Well, good.” She nodded to herself. “Oh, if you boys want to stay and chat with your fathers, I suppose I can’t stop you. I’ll just let the house-elves know, so they can bring you a plate.” She bustled off back to her office.

Harry and Draco were staring at them suspiciously. Scorpius gulped. “Um. Hi?” he offered.

Al rolled his eyes and pulled up a chair next to Harry’s bed. “Hi Dad. Professor Malfoy. What’s up?”

Draco raised an eyebrow as Scorpius hurried to pull up a chair next to Al. “Not much. Er, what’s up with you, Mister Potter?”

“Oi! How come he’s ‘Mister’ Potter?” Harry protested.

Draco scowled at him. “Because _you_ , Potter, haven’t earned my respect, nor are you my student.” He sniffed.

Harry threw a roll at him.

Draco picked up his own roll, eyes flashing dangerously, but paused when Madam Pomfrey’s indignant shout rang through the room. “If you throw that, Mister Malfoy, I’ll throw _you_ out on your ear.”

Draco put the roll back on his plate.

“Coward!” Harry hissed.

“I heard that, Mister Potter!”

Harry scowled. Draco stuck out his tongue. Al and Scorpius looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

* * *

Scorpius scowled at his canvas, chewing on the end of one of his brushes. He raised the second brush again, sighting along it and pondering what it was that made Al’s painted face seem so… lopsided. A third paintbrush was tucked behind his ear.

“Can’t I move _yet_?” Al whined.

Scorpius sent one last withering glare at his canvas, then waved his hand. “Oh, all right. I’m not getting anywhere anyway.”

Al hoisted himself off the bed and moved to stand beside him. He cocked his head to the side. “How come my face is all… lopsided?”

Scorpius swiped at him with the brush as he heaved a dramatic sigh.

“We need new models” they said, at the same time. Then giggled.

“Common room, then?” Al asked.

“Ugh. Fine. Just let me wash my brushes.”

Scorpius scowled at his books as he swished his brushes through the soapy water. Not for the first time, he wished he could have known Uncle Teddy’s grandfather. Ted Tonks had been muggleborn, and had studied art before coming to Hogwarts. He’d kept it up his whole life. Aunt Andy had given her husband’s old art books to Scorpius, when he was small. His mother had gotten him lessons, when he’d shown a talent for it. He’d shared the books with Al, who’d taken to sketching. He tried everything else too, with more enthusiasm than talent - but that didn’t matter. It filled Scorpius with a bubbly sort of glow whenever he did anything with Al. Lately they did almost everything together. He knew they needed to make friends, but neither of them really knew how. The other kids - even the other Hufflepuffs - were so intimidating and loud.

“Scorp! Are you trying to wash those brushes or dissolve them?”

Scorpius, startled abruptly from his thoughts, stared blankly at the brushes for a moment. Then his brain restarted, and he blushed. “Oops. Sorry Al. Coming.”

“What were you thinking about?” Al asked, choosing this moment to become inconveniently perceptive.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing much.” Scorpius shrugged carelessly, heart suddenly beating uncomfortably fast. “Ted Tonks, mostly.”

Al followed his glance to the art books and nodded. “I would have liked to have met him too.”

Scorpius smiled gratefully at him and led the way to the common room. “Come on. Let’s go mingle. Or something.”

* * *

“Hey! Look who it is.” Scorpius couldn’t tell who’d whispered it, but immediately heads started swiveling in their direction. The low hum of conversation died abruptly as everyone turned to stare at them. Scorpius tried to shrink back behind Al.

“Um,” he said softly, “hi?”

“Ugh, why weren’t you two put in Ravenclaw?” asked a red-haired student Scorpius didn’t recognize. He didn’t think they had any classes together - a second-year, maybe?

“Yeah,” said the dark-skinned girl beside him, “All you do is study.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes at that. “Didn’t you pay attention during the Welcoming Speech?”

“And you did?”

“No. But I already knew how sorting works.”

“How does it work, then?” asked a slightly older girl curiously, tucking stray blonde ringlets behind her ears. “I’ve always wondered how the hat knows where to put us.”

“And where did you learn about it?” added another girl who looked like she could be her twin, except her hair was perfectly straight.

“Read it.” Scorpius said promptly. “In Hogwarts: A History. Revised and Expanded edition.”

“Of _course_ you did,” said the the first boy, rolling his eyes.

“Hush,” said his friend, elbowing him. “I actually want to know this.”

Scorpius smiled at the girl. “Well,” he said, unconsciously mimicking his father’s lecture voice, “the Sorting Hat doesn’t sort based on your method of action - on _how_ you do the things you do. It primarily sorts based on _why_ you do things - on your motivations. Your methods and actions are taken into account, yes, as well as your _preference_ , especially if you have two nearly equal primary motivations.”

The girl frowned. “Hmm.”

A first-year boy Scorpius vaguely recognized piped up then. “What are the primary motivations for each house, then?”

Scorpius smiled, delighted at the question. “Well, according to Hogwarts: A History, Gryffindors are primarily motivated by pushing past their limits and facing down their fears, and by a strong sense of justice. Slytherins are primarily motivated by power and personal gain. Ravenclaws are primarily motivated by pure knowledge for knowledge’s sake. And Hufflepuffs,“ he stopped to grin around the room, “Hufflepuffs are primarily motivated by helping others and mutual benefit.”

The boy stared openly, fascinated. The girl next to him, another first-year, looked interested despite herself.

“So _that’s_ why my sister’s in Slytherin,” the first-year boy said, running his fingers through wavy brown hair “when she studies nearly as much as you two.” He grinned widely, displaying a prominent gap between his front teeth

The first-year girl beside him frowned. “What’s her motivation, then?”

“She studies because my parents reward good grades,” the boy said promptly, “and because she wants to be Minister for Magic one day. She _loves_ bossing people around.” He sighed heavily, and the girl snorted.

“But I don’t want to help people,” she protested. “So how come I’m in Hufflepuff?”

“You don’t?” Al asks.

“Nope. I’m going to learn to take care of magical creatures. My crup got sick when I was little, and nobody could help her. The places that take sick animals, and make sure they’re happy and comfortable, and help out with medicines and stuff, you know? They didn’t have room for her. She was in so much pain, they had to put her down - even though the lady who did was sad and said she could have lived another several years if my family had been able to afford the medicines. I want to open a home for animals like her, because I don’t want any of them to be in pain like she was, and - oh.” She made a face.

The boy laughed and stuck out his hand. “I’m Ivan,” he said, “Ivan Creevey.”

The girl rolled her eyes, but held out her hand too. “I’m Sasha Davison. Who are you two dorks, then?” She smiled when she said it, and Scorpius couldn’t help smiling back.

Al grinned, pumping their hands enthusiastically. ‘Al,” he said cheerfully. “Al Potter. And this is my sidekick - “

“Hey!”

“ - Scorp.”

“Scorpius Malfoy, at your service.” He bowed. Al elbowed him, nearly knocking him over.

The girl stared. “I don’t believe it. _You_ two dorks are _Harry Potter_ and _Draco Malfoy_ ’s kids?”

“Er, yeah?” Scorpius shrugged. He didn’t see that it really mattered. It’s not like they all didn’t see their parents every day, since they were both professors now.

The girl looked shocked. “But… aren’t your parents, like, mortal enemies?”

Al snorted. “Hardly. They mostly just argue.”

“So,” Scorpius said, clapping his hands. “Now that’s settled, will someone _please_ let us draw them?”

A scary-looking older girl looked up, green eyes gleaming with interest. Scorpius was distracted by the light glinting off multiple piercings as she moved her head. “Nude?” She suggested, leering at them.

“Er,” said Al.

Scorpius stared at her, mouth open, as he struggled to find his voice. “Um. No. Definitely with clothes _on_.”

“Pity.” The girl turned back to her books, chewing absently on black-lacquered nails. “I might have been interested, else.”

Scorpius turned to Al, relieved to find his friend looking as horrified as he felt.

Sasha giggled. “We will, won’t we, Ivan. If we can chat while you work?”

Al waved his hand airily. “Yeah, sure. As long as you can hold relatively still. It will be a relief to draw someone with a bit of color.”

“Hey!” Scorpius scowled at him. “I have plenty of color.”

Al grinned. “Yeah. Pale, pale, and more pale. Boooo-ring.”

Sasha flicked her inky dark hair over one shoulder as she slung her bag over the other. “He’s not _completely_ pale. He’s got a blue streak, just there.” She gestured to a spot just above his right ear, where he habitually tucked his third paintbrush.

He gasped, fingers hastening to the spot of dried paint. “No. Really? Albus!”

Albus tore off toward their room, cackling. Scorpius rolled his eyes, following more sedately so Ivan and Sasha could catch up. “We’re going to the same place, dimwit!” he called.


	19. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans

_Thursday, October 5, 2017  
_

Draco paused in his customary circuit round the room to look into a gently bubbling cauldron. “Tell me, if you please, Miss Leatherwood, what color today’s potion should be?”

She glanced up at him, blowing her bangs away from her forehead, exposing suddenly-pensive eyes. “Er, lavender, Sir.” She double-checked her notes, then peered anxiously into her cauldron. “It _is_ lavender, isn’t it, Professor? Only, I’ve just realized that I’ve never properly _seen_ lavender before, and what if what I _thought_ was lavender was actually, I don’t know, _teal_ or something, and - “

“Miss Leatherwood.” Draco lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, feeling her tense beneath his palm. Perhaps he _was_ too harsh on them. They were only children, after all. He concentrated, pitching his voice lower, trying to project calm. “Breathe, Miss Leatherwood. Your potion is a perfectly lovely shade of lavender - you’ve brewed it properly.

Her shoulders dropped as she abruptly relaxed. “Oh.”

Draco offered her a careful smile. “Keep up the good work, Miss Leatherwood.” He looked up, and his smile faltered.

“Mister Zabini!” he called out abruptly, striding forward. ”What _are_ you doing?” He cast a rapid freezing charm, breathing a sigh of relief as the violently bubbling potion solidified mid-explosion.

“You, Mister Zabini, are _not_ color-blind,” he said sharply, after taking a moment to bring his rapid breathing under control.

“No, sir.”

“Indeed. Now. Tell me, Mister Zabini, how your lavender potion has ended up,” he paused, at a loss. “What color _is_ that, anyway?”

“Mud, sir?” Zabini’s parter offered, creeping out from beneath the bench and casting a sidelong glance at the cauldron before sidling a bit further from it.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Mister Finnegan. That’s a rather apt description.” He wrinkled his nose, vanishing the frozen… mud… explosion. “Go wash up, Mister Zabini. And for Merlin’s sake, pay attention to what you’re doing next time!”

Not for the first time, he felt a pang of sympathy for his former Potions Professor. Severus had been harsh, and brutally unfair, but _really_. Some of these children were absolute _menaces_.

* * *

As the chattering horde filed out of the room, Draco slumped over his desk, shifting the pile of essays awaiting marking. He groaned. He was almost tempted to stop giving homework altogether, except he rather suspected there would be twice as many explosions if he did.

Something hit the desk beside his head with a loud “thwack!” and Draco jumped, fumbling for his wand. He froze as he heard a giggle, and looked up into the amused face of Tilly Leatherwood.

“Sorry, Professor,” she said, sounding anything but.

He eyed the small, unassuming yellow box in front of him, and then her green-and-silver tie with mounting trepidation. “What’s this?”

She giggled again. “Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, of course, Professor. Says so right there.”

“Yes, Miss Leatherwood, thank you. I can read.”

“Why’d you ask, then?”

Draco sighed. “Perhaps the question I should have asked is _why_ have you thrown a box of Bertie Bott’s at me, Miss Leatherwood?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t throw ‘em, did I? Tossed ‘em. Anyway, they’re to say thank you, I suppose. It’s loads better, being able to tell all the colors. Potions is dead easy now.”

Draco felt his mouth tugging up into a grin despite himself. “Oh. Well, thank you. I don’t suppose you’d take them back? I’m not particularly fond of them, myself.”

She thrust her hands behind her back and shook her head, pigtails bouncing. “Nope. They’re yours, now. You can do what you like with ‘em.” She started to walk away, then turned back, expression sly, and leaned over his desk. “You know, Professor,” she whispered, “I hear those are Professor Potter’s favorite.”

Draco stared, dumbfounded, as the tiny girl turned, shoved her hands in her pockets, and skipped away, whistling slightly off-key.

He snorted, shaking his head, and shoved the ridiculous candy into his desk drawer. _Slytherins_.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he found himself standing outside the hospital wing, box of candy in hand. He glared down at it for a moment, then sighed and went in.

He stopped, just inside the door, when he realized that Harry was asleep, trying to ignore the quick flush of disappointment. He turned to go, then turned back, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He fished a piece of paper and a quill from his pocket and scribbled a quick note,

_Harry. Was given some Bertie Bott’s by a student even though I detest them. I’m just going to leave them here, so you can torture yourself with all the awful flavors when you wake up, since you seem to have missed lunch. No need to thank me. -D_

He tiptoed over to Harry’s bedside table and gently placed the box and note on it. Then he left as quietly as he’d come.

* * *

Draco spent the rest of the day wondering why on earth he’d done such a ridiculous thing, and forcing himself to not go running to the hospital wing to take candy and note back. He was completely distracted in all his classes, and thank goodness they were all prepping potions, because he didn’t think he’d be able to manage lecturing coherently or averting the usual brewing disasters.

He decided, by the time the last class had filed out, that he was absolutely _not_ going back to the hospital wing during dinner. He decisively pulled the first essay from the stack, dipped his quill… and froze as a house-elf appeared with a sharp crack. It was the same one that usually brought his dinner, only today his dinner was nowhere in sight. Instead, the elf scowled at him, wordlessly holding out a crudely-folded paper crane.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Hello Beezy. What’s this? And where is my dinner?”

The elf sniffed. “Your dinner is being in the hospital wing. Sir.” Then it disapparated with a second, even louder, crack.

Draco stared after it, dumbfounded. He remembered the bird, then, and unfolded it slowly. Inside was… a stick figure drawing. Of himself. On a broom. With lightning bolts all around. He stared for a solid minute, then fell back into his chair, laughing hysterically.

* * *

He walked into the hospital wing, a few minutes later, grin still playing about his mouth and feeling lighter than he had in years.

Harry waved at him, then went back to scowling at Pomfrey as she fussed around him, checking his vitals. “How long are you going to keep me here, anyway?” he asked her petulantly.

Pomfrey clucked. “Hold still. I suppose I’ll have to let you out tomorrow - if it were up to me, I’d keep you another several days, just to keep an eye on you, but knowing you, you’d just make a break for it. So, tomorrow morning, first thing. You’re not to teach for the rest of the week, though,” she warned, “or I’ll have you back here quicker than you can say - oh, hello there, Professor Malfoy.”

Harry looked up and grinned at him. “Hear that, Draco? I’ll be back here quicker than - ”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Good for you.”

“Who won the last match?” Harry asked suddenly.

“What match?” Draco frowned.

“The last Quidditch match. Obviously.”

“Oh. Er, Gryffindor, maybe? I don’t really remember.”

“ _You_ don’t remember who won the last match? Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Draco sighed. “I haven’t actually been to any of the games this year, you know.”

“Whyever not?”

“I - was busy.”

Harry snorted. “Right. They were playing Slytherin, though. Surely your students were talking about it? In the common room, if not in class.”

Draco thought back over the last few days. “Not really. They don’t really talk to me, though. And they aren’t as obsessed with Quidditch as you were.” He eyed Harry’s avid expression, and corrected himself. “Are.”

Harry shrugged. “Honestly, it gets a bit boring in here, when you’re off professing.”

“Professing? Really?”

“Well, you’re a professor, aren’t you? So, that means you profess.” He waved away Draco’s objections, snagging the box of beans and tossing one into his mouth.

Harry offered him a bean, which Draco declined. “So, did you get my note?”

Draco snorted. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“You’d be surprised what I remember. And what I don’t,” Harry muttered, half to himself.

Draco felt an invisible punch to his gut and forced himself to smile. “Yes. Well. I - I have to go.”

He bolted from the hospital wing, feeling like ten kinds of fool.

* * *

_Friday, October 6, 2017_

Draco spent a sleepless night plagued by memories he wished desperately he could forget, spending half of it pacing round and round his rooms and the rest staring into the fire. When morning came, he rose woodenly from the chair, and went to class. He floated through classes feeling like a ghost, without ever really taking anything in. When his last class let out, he wandered back to his room, ignoring the worried glances from several students, and sat, propping his chin in his hand and tucking up his knees, staring into the flames.

He didn’t go back to the hospital wing.


	20. Tea and Scones

_Saturday, October 7, 2017_

“It’s a lovely day for a Hogsmeade weekend, don’t you think so, Minerva?” Neville asked, smiling beatifically out over the town, bustling with students on this fine October day. It had rained, earlier, and the air was clear and fresh, fairly sparkling with promise.

There was just enough of a breeze to make Minerva grateful that she’d thought to wear her warmer autumn cloak today. She clutched it closer, fending off the chill in the air that heralded an early winter, and scowled at the milling students. Troublemakers, the lot of them. “It would be lovelier if it _weren’t_ a Hogsmeade weekend.”

From her other side, Teddy snorted.

“Why on _earth_ did you insist on meeting _here_ , Neville?” Minerva asked crossly. “We’ll be lucky to get a booth at the Three Broomsticks.” She lifted her hem as she slogged through a puddle. She nearly stumbled, pressing close to Neville’s side as a gaggle of fifth-year girls swept past, giggling and jostling one another and not paying a whit of attention to anyone.

“Ah, but we’re not going to the Three Broomsticks.” Neville nodded sagely, stroking his beard, and then gently took her arm, steering her toward a cheerfully tacky storefront. “Here we are.”

Minerva gazed skeptically over the rims of her glasses, grimacing. “Madam Puddifoot’s, Neville, really?”

Neville’s grin widened, and his eyes twinkled. “Don’t make that face,” he chided. “She makes the best scones this side of London.”

Minerva shook her head and muttered disparaging remarks about Neville’s taste in scones, tea shops and idea of suitable meeting places under her breath, but followed him into the shop anyway, rolling her eyes at the profusion of doilies and lace. At least there weren’t many students, and the booths were arranged for privacy. Maybe it wouldn’t make a _terrible_ meeting place.

She nearly smiled at Teddy’s wide-eyed curiosity, as he gazed around the shop with open interest and bafflement, but caught herself at the last minute. That would never do. She pasted her best stern, disapproving expression on her face, determined not to show one whit of enjoyment. Just because Neville Longbottom had grown up to be Headmaster, did _not_ mean that he could boss her around with impunity. Not even with that obnoxiously Dumbledore-like twinkle in his eyes.

“Are you _trying_ to turn into Dumbledore, Neville?” Minerva asked, exasperated, “or is it just that you’re Headmaster now?” She stared at him, as another thought struck her. “Godric, did _I_ act like Dumbledore when I was Headmistress?”

Neville laughed. “You were _Acting_ Headmistress - perhaps that exempted you. I _have_ been talking to Albus’s portrait a lot of late, to get advice on administrative issues, so perhaps it’s a combination of both. Now, is there anything besides scones that either of you would like for me to order?”

* * *

“So,” said Neville, after the tea and scones had arrived and they’d all tucked in - and Minerva was _not_ going to give him the satisfaction of moaning in pleasure at the way the buttery confection melted on her tongue, even if it _was_ the best scone she had ever eaten - “what’s the status of our Potter-Malfoy problem?”

Minerva threw up her hands (only just remembering to put the scone down first) and glared at the ceiling. “I don’t know what went wrong! Poppy told me yesterday that they were getting on just fine! She said they had lunch with their boys the day before - that Malfoy had taken to eating all his meals there - and that they would have gotten in a food-fight if she hadn’t intervened. Then, yesterday, Draco left Harry a box of candy - those horrid Bertie Botts’ things, you know - and Harry sent him a note, and they were getting on as usual. And then Harry said something - too quietly for her to hear - and Draco got spooked and ran. She said Harry was in a right state, and she almost didn’t let him go, but she didn’t think she could justify keeping him there any longer. And, then, you’ve seen them since - brooding and gloomy and snappy.” Minerva sighed. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe there’s just too much between them.”

“Patience, Minerva,” Neville said, patting her shoulder, “we’re not giving up that easily. Have another scone.”

Minerva glared daggers at the proffered pastry, but took it anyway.

“Where is Poppy, anyway?” Teddy asked, taking another scone for himself. “At this rate we’ll have to order another plate.”

“Already taken care of.” Neville grinned. “Madam Puddifoot knows me - she’ll bring another tray once this one’s done.”

Sure enough, the moment he lifted the last scone from the tray, Madam Puddifoot herself bustled over with another to replace it. “A healthy appetite, as always, Mister Longbottom,” she said, grinning.

“Only for your scones, Madam Puddifoot,” Neville returned cheerfully. “One can never get enough of them.” He grinned cheekily at her, and she blushed and bustled away again.

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Is there anything that smile _doesn’t_ get you?”

Neville put his hand over his heart, as if she’d wounded him. “Only your heart, Minerva,” he said.

Minerva threw a scone at him.

“Now, now,” Neville scolded, grabbing the scone out of the air - and why hadn’t he bothered to show those seeker-like reflexes when he was a student? - “we can’t have you thrown out of Madam Puddifoot’s - it might endanger my access to the finest scones in all Scotland.”

Poppy Pomfrey bustled in, then, cheeks reddened and strands of greying hair escaping her neat bun, saving Neville from Minerva’s acerbic retort. “I’ve _finally_ lost them,” she gasped, slumping into her chair. “Ooh, scones! Thanks Nev - you’re the best.”

“Finally lost _who_?” Minerva asked. “Was someone _chasing_ you, Poppy?”

“What? Oh, goodness me, no.” Poppy huffed a laugh, still slightly out-of-breath. “It was only the students - wanting advice on this and that.”

“‘This and that?’” Minerva raised a brow skeptically.

Poppy colored. “I… Well, I can’t help it if I’m their only source of information, can I? Most of them don’t know anything at all about it, you know, and they don’t _have_ to be so clueless.” Her voice had risen throughout this impassioned outburst, and she lowered it conspiratorially. “Did _you_ know about the back room at Flourish and Blotts?”

Minerva frowned. “There isn’t a back room at Flourish and Blotts.” She should know - she practically lived there, when not at Hogwarts.

Poppy grinned, cheeks dimpling impishly. “Oh, but there is. It’s where they keep all the - ” she lowered her voice again, leaning over the table. They all unconsciously mimicked her, until they were huddled so close their noses were nearly touching. “ - _Special_ romances and manuals.”

“Special?” Minerva could feel her brows rising, and suspected they were nearing her hairline. Across the table, Neville snorted. _He,_ apparantly, had known about this already. Minerva felt suddenly every one of her many years. Even Poppy was younger; though, she reflected, not by much.

Poppy’s grin lit up her face, making her appear years younger. “You know. The… nontraditional ones.”

Minerva still didn’t understand. Perhaps she never would. Maybe she was just too old.

Poppy pulled a frustrated face. “ _Surely_ you know - “

“LGBT,” Teddy interrupted her. “Gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, pansexual, asexual, poly…”

Minerva flushed hotly. “Oh.”

“… They also carry an extensive collection of muggle romances - not to mention the many, _many_ , volumes on every kink you could possibly imagine…”

Neville coughed. Minerva suspected he was trying to cover a laugh. “That’s enough, Teddy,” he said, mock-severely. “We don’t want to give poor Minerva a heart attack.”

Surely she couldn’t possibly get any redder? Alas, it seemed that she could. “I’m not _entirely_ uninformed on the subject, thank you very much, even if I am an old coot,” she said stiffly, “I was married you know. It’s merely that I was unaware that this room existed.” She leaned closer to Poppy, then. “Does it _really_?”

Poppy nodded, looking delighted. “I’ll show you, if you like. Once we’re done here.”

Minerva tugged at her collar. This tearoom was far too warm. “Perhaps another day - a _non_ -Hogsmeade weekend, when there aren’t so many students swarming about.”

Neville chuckled, and the tension was broken. They made smalltalk for a bit, and Neville signaled Madam Puddifoot to bring refills of their tea and the scones. He seemed determined to eat enough to last him until the next Hogsmeade day.

Minerva had just managed to relax, and was about to bite into another scone - she’d had more than enough already, but they were impossible to resist - when Neville looked up from his conversation with Teddy, halting mid-word.

“Hang on, were you really?”

She stared at him. “Was I really _what_?”

“Married.” He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if it tasted strange.

Minerva sighed. “Yes,” she said shortly. “Not that it is any of your business.”

“But, when? For how long? To _who?”_

 _“_ To _whom_ ,” she replied tartly. “As to the rest, I believe you will find that it is none of your business.”

“But… _married_. Did I meet him? Do I _know_ him?” Neville stared at her as if she were some new species of magical plant, and she scowled.

“That, I believe, is rather beside the point. Now. Are we going to discuss Misters Malfoy and Potter, or are we going to twiddle our thumbs? If it is the latter, I believe I will head home now. I do have things to do, you know.”

Poppy laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Don’t go, Minerva, dear. Neville didn’t mean any harm. He won’t ask any more questions. _Will you?_ ” she asked, turning hard eyes on Neville.

“No, of course not,” he said, “forgive me. It’s none of my business.” He steepled his fingers together. “As to Harry and Draco… I’m afraid there’s not anything we can do. Not until we know why Draco bolted. He doesn’t - Draco doesn’t run from his problems. Not anymore. I’m afraid there’s more to this than we know.”

Teddy sighed explosively. “I just wish we knew what it was! They’re perfect for one another - why won’t they _see_ it?”

Poppy smiled softly at him. “I think they _do_ see it, Teddy. But Neville’s right - there’s something else between them. Something dark and deep. And I suspect it’s something they have to sort out for themselves.”

“Yes, and how are they going to do that if they keep bloody running away?” Teddy scowled down at his plate, shredding his scone anxiously.

“They’re young yet, Teddy,” Minerva said. “It’s hard to see from your perspective, I know, but they’ve got time to sort this out. Let’s leave them be for now. Who knows - they might surprise us.”

“And if they keep running?”

Neville picked up the last scone and bit into it, with slightly more force than was strictly warranted. “Then we try something else.”


	21. The Fearsome (Fabulous) Five

_Sunday, October 8, 2017_

“Stop moving!” Al commanded, scribbling furiously at his paper. “Merlin, Scorp, I thought _I_ was the one who couldn’t sit still.

“I had an itch,” Scorpius said petulantly. “Anyway, you’ve got to be nearly done with that - I’ve been sitting here for _hours_.”

Al squinted along his pencil, then scribbled some more. “Can’t have been,” he said distractedly, then “ _aha!_ It’s the _ears_.”

“It’s only been fifteen minutes, Scorp,” Sasha said, flicking idly through one of his art books. She was lying on her stomach on their spare bed, kicking her feet in the air.

“Yes, well, it was supposed to be a _five_ minute sketch. Remember? Anyway, I don’t see why I’m stuck posing _again_. Wasn’t it supposed to be your turn? And what in Merlin’s name are you _doing_ , Ivan?”

Ivan turned his head, fixing one startlingly blue eye on Scorpius. He was sprawled on his back, hanging precariously off the bed beside Sasha, one eye screwed shut. It was giving Scorpius a headache just watching him, and he kept wanting to turn his head upside down in sympathy. Ivan blinked owlishly at him with the open eye. “Getting a new perspective.”

Sometimes he reminded Scorpius scarily of Luna. She was a wonderful source of new and fantastic magical creatures, to be sure, and a veritable fount of knowledge - some of which might even be true - but she was alarmingly unpredictable. Scorpius always felt a bit wrong-footed around her. She said it was probably wrackspurts. He thought it was just a healthy respect for order. There was something comforting in knowing the ground was solid beneath your feet. Ivan seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t.

The beaded curtains rattled, suddenly, and a small, bright-eyed whirlwind breezed into their room. “Oh, good. You’re all here. We need to talk.”

For a moment there was silence as four pairs of eyes swiveled to fix on the newcomer. Ivan tried to sit up and turn his head at the same time, and ended up in a heap on the floor.

“Hang on!” he squawked, once Sasha had hauled him up, “You’re not a ‘puff! How’d you get in?”

“Yeah!” said Sasha, rising smoothly to her feet and planting her hands solidly on her hips. “The entrances are spelled. Only _true_ Hufflepuffs can get through.”

The newcomer twirled one of her pigtails and widened her eyes innocently. “Who says I’m not a true ‘puff?”

Al tucked his pencil behind his ear, studying her. “Your tie, for one.”

They all looked at the decidedly green-and-silver tie slung haphazardly around her neck.

She shrugged. “Maybe I stole it.”

Scorpius snorted. ‘Maybe you did… but I’ve a feeling that would make you less of a true ‘puff.”

The girl pursed her lips. “Hmm. Point. Maybe I had an assignation.”

Ivan frowned. “An assig-what?”

She rolled her eyes. “My, you ‘puffs are innocent. A… date, then.”

Al raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

Scorpius felt a confusing flare of jealousy, and tamped it down. He’d have to think about where it was coming from… but later. The girl was speaking again.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

Sasha grimaced. “You sure don’t like to give out information, do you?”

“Reckon she is a snake, then,” Ivan said.

Scorpius frowned at her. “But then how’d you get in?”

She sighed. “I _am_ a true ‘puff. Honest. The Sorting Hat wanted to sort me here, but I convinced it I’d do more good in Slytherin.” She smirked.

“…I don’t know whether that makes you more ‘puff or snake, to be honest,” Al said faintly, “but I think I’m impressed.”

She grinned fiercely. “Got in here, didn’t I?”

Ivan looked confused.

“A nice bit of circular logic, that,” Sasha said scathingly.

“Yeah,” Al added. “Bold, too. Maybe you should have been a Gryffindor.”

The girl grimaced. “Ick; no thanks. I’ll take ‘puffs or snakes any day.”

“Not Ravenclaw, then?” Scorpius asked, intrigued despite himself.

“Nah,” she flopped comfortably down across his bed, still snugged up against Al’s. “I’ll let you dorks do the studying. I’m here for the matchmaking.”

Al coughed. “Who said anything about matchmaking?”

She shrugged, snagging a pillow and propping herself up with it. “It’s what I do. Of course we’ll be matchmaking.”

They all stared, and she sighed. “ _Honestly_. My work’s hit a snag - I need your help.”

Scorpius found his voice first. “And… you expect us to help, why?”

She inspected her nails. “Well. They’re _your_ dads, aren’t they?” She looked up then, biting her lip, the first sign of anxiety she’d displayed. “Unless, of course, I’ve misinterpreted things and you actually _don’t_ want to get them together?”

Al held up his hands. “Right. OK. Hang on. Just… _Why_ have you been trying to get our dads together, exactly?”

She grinned, bouncing back from her momentary hesitation. “ _Duh_. It’s what I do. And they’ve got the most sexual tension in this pile of rocks. The air practically sizzles between them - can’t you feel it?”

They all looked up, vaguely wondering what the castle would do in response to being called a “pile of rocks.” When nothing interesting happened, they turned back to the girl.

“Confident, aren’t you?” Scorpius wasn’t sure he liked the hint of admiration in Al’s voice.

“Please. I know what I’m doing.”

“So…” Al said slowly, chewing his lip, “how do you figure you can do more good in Slytherin?”

Her grin turned sly. “It’s the best place to learn how to channel my abilities. I mean, I’m already good at figuring out what people want, who they are, who they’re meant to be with, that sort of thing. What I need is to learn how to help people see it without realizing that I’m leading them.”

Scorpius sidled further away from her. “You’re devious.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“I think it's swell," Al said cheerfully. "And possibly just what we need."

Scorpius sighed, then held out his hand. “All right. Fine. Welcome to the club."

She bounced up, pigtails swinging, and shook each of their hands in turn. “Fabulous. I’m Tilly. Tilly Leatherwood. So… Does our little club have a name?"

"Er, no?” Ivan said.

"Do we need one?" Scorpius asked, already knowing the answer.

Tilly rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ we do. Let's see…” She flapped her hand at Al and Scorpius. “Well, you two are obviously the Dastardly Duo - "

"Obviously," Sasha mimicked.

Tilly ignored her. “- And we can be the Terrible Trio."

Ivan grinned. "I like that."

“So that makes us, what, the Fabulous Five?” Al asked.

“Or Fearsome,” Ivan offered.

Sasha groaned.

Scorpius sighed.

And so the Terrible Trio and Dastardly Duo became the Fearsome (Fabulous) Five.


	22. When Pigs Fly

_Friday, October 13, 2017_

Draco sat at his desk, head in his hand, nursing his pounding headache and attempting to grade the day’s essays. It had been a week - one week - since he’d fled the hospital wing. He hadn’t seen Harry since.

Oh, he couldn’t avoid him completely. He’d heard the students and other teachers talking - and, yes, he’d sometimes strained to hear the conversations, but… well. He was only human after all. He wasn’t immune to temptation. He’d managed an entire week of not seeing Harry, and, even though it was tearing him up inside, and he'd had a persistent headache since that afternoon, and he'd had to resist the temptation to go and find him with every shred of his tattered self-control - he'd done it, dammit. He was going to count this one a victory, in hopes that it made other victories easier.

And, yes, maybe it was cowardly. But… Draco just couldn’t drag them through that again. His heart had just barely survived the first time. Going through that heartbreak again - it would kill him. He knew it. The only thing that kept him getting up each day and going to his classes was that Harry. Didn’t. Know. He had suspicions - that was obvious. That’s what that drawing had been about. But suspecting wasn’t the same as knowing. Harry didn’t _know_. It was only Draco’s heart on the line, this time. And, in a way, that made it easier.

He slashed his quill through a cobbled-together explanation of the effects of dragonsbane on love potions - utter nonsense, and poorly written to boot - and winced as the tip tore through the parchment. Well. Perhaps a break was in order. A nice relaxing cup of tea. Yes. He’d call that house elf - Beezy - now. A cup of tea, one of those scones they’d had at lunch, and -

And then Harry walked through the door.

Draco’s thoughts stuttered to a halt and he gaped for a moment.

Harry looked - well, he’d looked better, certainly. He could use a shave, and his hair was an absolute disaster. Daco’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. No. No, no, and no. He was _not_ doing this again.

“You’ll have to come back later,” he said shortly, training his gaze on the torn parchment before him. “I’m quite busy, just now.”

He refused to look up, hoping that Harry would do the sensible thing and just _go away_. But, no. Of course he wouldn’t. Draco really should have expected that. When had Harry _ever_ done the sensible thing?

“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll, er, just wait here, then?”

“Hmm.” _Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll get bored and leave._ He snorted. _And maybe today will be the day pigs fly_.

Harry plopped down in the chair in front of Draco’s desk, the one he kept there for students who sought him out for help. Surprisingly, there had been several, lately. Enough that he’d had to bring in the chair. Harry lounged in it, looking obscenely relaxed. He propped his hands behind his head and whistled softly, jiggling his foot. Well. Not _that_ relaxed, then.

Draco finished grading the essay, and reached for the next without looking up. Harry’s foot continued obstinately to jiggle.

Draco worked his way steadily through the stack of essays - at this rate, he’d finish the weekend’s grading before the weekend even arrived - and soon found that he could almost forget Harry was there. Almost.

After several minutes of being ignored, Harry seemed to give up on pretending to be relaxed. He leaped out of his chair, stumbling slightly, and began prowling up and down the classroom. Draco grit his teeth and tried to ignore it as Harry touched _everything,_ seemingly needing to leave his mark on every surface in the room _._ He trailed his fingers along the tops of the desks, peered into all the cupboards, picked up and then set down the carefully arranged potions ingredients and flasks of completed potions - far too roughly for Draco’s peace of mind, and ruining his organization to boot - and generally made a nuisance of himself.

Finally, Draco couldn’t take it anymore. “For Merlin’s sake, Potter!” he snapped. “Sit down! And _stop touching things_!”

Harry started, looking hurt, and then ambled over and perched on top of Draco’s desk, entirely too close for comfort, swinging his legs against the side. _Thump. Thump thump. Thump. Thump -_

Draco, arms full of the piles of papers and potions vials Harry had nearly upset and he’d just barely managed to rescue, scowled.

“Fine,” he grit out, sweeping the papers to the side. “Fine. Just say what you came to say and then get the hell out of here so I can get back to work.”

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye as he ranted. “Are you quite done?” he asked, raising both eyebrows. “You know,” he added conversationally, “just because you’ve taken over Snape’s old job, doesn’t mean you have to act like him.”

Draco scowled, only just managing not to punch the git. “Out. I’ll not have you taking up my time, intruding on my space, just to insult me _or_ my mentor.”

Harry bit his lip, contrite. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Old habits.”

Draco sighed. “Fine. Did you actually have something to say, or are you just here to bother me? I meant what I said, you know.”

Harry looked at the floor. “I… just wanted to talk, I guess. I was enjoying our little chats.”

Draco sighed. “It was… I don’t know what the hell it was, actually, Potter, but it couldn’t last. We’re not… we don’t _do_ friends.”

Harry looked up at him then, expression fierce. “ _Why the hell not?_ ”

“Because I’m me and you’re… well, _you._ ”

“Eloquent, Malfoy. Really.”

“I try.”

They stared at one another for a moment, and then Harry snorted. Draco grinned reluctantly.

Harry scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I really just wanted to talk, Malfoy. I missed it. I missed you.”

Draco sighed. “All right, Potter. Fine. We’ll talk.” He waited a beat. “Potter?”

“Nothing is easy with you, is it?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No, I suppose not. OK. Um.” He looked around, obviously searching for inspiration. Draco waited, arms folded. _He_ certainly wasn’t going to help. Maybe Harry would realize that this would never work, and leave him in peace. Unlikely, but he could hope.

Harry’s gaze fell on the stack of essays, and his eyes lit up. Draco braced himself.

“They ask me about you, you know.”

“What?” That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.

Harry grinned. “Yeah. I swear, all my classes are just ‘Professor Malfoy’ this and ‘Professor Malfoy’ that. They look up to you.”

“You’re having me on,” Draco said flatly.

“No, I’m serious.” Harry looked up at him earnestly, and Draco swallowed. Sweet Merlin, he was serious. Could they - did they really look up to him? He thought of his students, daily attempting to blow up his classroom, and wondered. Then he thought of Tilly Leatherwood, and grimaced. _That_ girl didn’t look up to him; though, she probably didn’t look up to Harry, either. He rather suspected that she didn’t look up to anyone.

Determinedly shaking thoughts of Tilly from his mind, Draco tried for humor. “They all talk about how much better a teacher I am than you?”

Harry snorted. “Actually, they mostly just want to hear about our many fights in our school days, and about our duel.”

“Surely not the one where I sent a snake after you?”

“Mmm. The very same. Of course, I talked the snake into leaving peacefully.”

“Is _that_ what you were doing? Only it looked like you were instructing it to attack that poor student.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “So I’ve heard.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Actually, they ask me the same things.”

Harry stared at him. “What, really?”

“Well,” Draco amended, “they try to make it more Potions-related. So they ask about how terrible you were, and about all the times Snape yelled at you - “

“Unfairly,” Harry pointed out.

“Hmm. I suppose. Though I seem to recall a few times where you quite deserved his wrath.”

Harry looked thoughtful, then nodded. “I suppose I can give you that one. What else do they ask?” He seemed genuinely curious.

Draco thought back to those first days, before he’d whipped them into shape. “One of them asked me flat out if you _really_ cheated in sixth year.”

“No!” Harry looked shocked.

Draco snorted. “Yes. I didn’t know how to answer that one.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “You know, I wouldn’t either. I mean, I didn’t cheat, exactly. Only, my Potions text had added commentary by someone called the Half-Blood Prince. I didn’t realize until later that it had belonged to Snape.”

Draco stared at him. “That explains… rather a lot, actually.”

“Yeah. It certainly wasn’t Slughorn’s expert instruction that got me those Potions results.”

They smiled at one another.

Harry’s smile faltered slightly. “This is weird.”

“What, talking?”

“Us,” he waved vaguely between them. “This. Getting along. Not fighting.”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward silence that Draco really didn’t want to break, and then Harry said, abruptly, “We should duel.”

Draco smirked. “What, now?”

Harry rolled his eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “No, you prat. In class. As a demonstration.”

Draco, not thinking of anything but that brief touch, nodded. He knew he would berate himself for it later, but… for now, he would take Harry’s easy smile, breaking through the clouds in his heart like piercing rays of sun. He was doomed.

Then a thought came to him. “Potter,” he said reluctantly, “we can’t very well duel every class period.”

Harry’s face fell. “Oh. Huh. Didn’t think of that.”

Draco frowned. “Too bad we can’t just get everyone together at the same time…”

Harry grinned and clapped Draco on the shoulder. “Malfoy - you’re brilliant.”

Draco preened. “Well, yes, we all know that.”

“Prat,” Harry said fondly. “What you just described - muggle schools have things like it. They’re called assemblies. This could totally work. I know Hogwarts doesn’t really have them, but… We need to talk to Neville.” He started for the door. “Well? What are you waiting for? Come on!”

“Potter… it’s nearly time for dinner. We can’t very well barge in on the Headmaster _now_. Even if he is Longbottom.”

Harry deflated, then brightened. “No, but we can bring it up at dinner. He’ll be there.”

Draco sighed. “Oh, all right. Why not? But you’re doing the talking.”

“Really?” Harry looked skeptical.

Draco groaned. _I’m_ so _going to regret this. Scratch that - I_ already _regret this._ Only he didn’t. Not really. Not when Harry smiled like _that_. At him.


	23. A Troll in the Dungeon?

_Friday, October 13, 2017_

“Come _on_ slowpoke.”

Draco stopped, staring incredulously. “ _Slowpoke_? Really? What are you, twelve?”

Harry flashed his irrepressible grin. “Nah - if I was twelve we’d be hexing each other.”

Draco’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “Or punching. You had a penchant for physical attacks, as I recall.”

“Yes, well. I hadn’t grown up around magic. When I wasn’t thinking - ” He eyed Draco, mouth opening on a snide remark, out of the corner of his eye - “Yes, yes, I know, you don’t have to say it.” Draco closed his mouth. “And you’re right - I _didn’t_ think very often, where you were concerned. Anyway, my instinct was to rush in with my fists, in those days.”

“And it isn’t now?” Draco raised one eyebrow skeptically.

“Well… not always.”

They walked for a bit in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Harry’s face had taken on an odd, pensive expression, and Draco wasn’t sure quite what to make of it. Harry was the same as he’d always been, in so many ways, but in others…

Harry nudged him, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Race you to the Great Hall?”

“Again, what are you, twelve?”

Harry took off running. Draco scowled. “Potter!” he called, sprinting to catch up, “That’s cheating!”

“So?” Harry called over his shoulder. “You should appreciate that, being a Slytherin, and all.”

Draco gritted his teeth and concentrated on running faster. By the time the Great Hall came into view, Draco was right on Harry’s heels. He put on one last burst of speed, and they slammed through the doors together, just as Neville was sitting down to eat.

They skidded to a halt, looking around sheepishly at the shocked faces of their students and colleagues. Neville stood back up, raising one eyebrow in an eerie echo of Dumbeldore.

“Professor Potter. Professor Malfoy. Is there something you’d like to tell us?” His other eyebrow rose to join the first. “A troll, in the dungeon, perhaps?”

The students looked worried; the professors looked like they were trying not to laugh. Minerva snorted. Draco stared at Neville incredulously, then turned to meet Harry’s eye. They both started laughing. Harry leaned against him, after a few minutes, still shaking with laughter, and Draco froze.

“Come on,” Harry said, still chuckling, seemingly not noticing Draco’s reaction. “Let’s go eat.”

Draco trailed after him, as he wended his way through the confused students. They took their places at the table. As soon as Harry had calmed down, he turned to Neville.

“So, Nev. We were thinking - “

Neville raised one eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Well, you know how the students have been bugging me to duel Malfoy?”

“You might have mentioned it. Once or twice.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Er, right. So, anyway, we thought maybe we could.”

Minerva leaned around Neville to stare at him. “You want to _duel_ , Mister Potter?”

Harry colored. “Well, no. Not exactly. Not an _actual_ duel. More of a…”

“Demonstration,” Draco supplied.

“Exactly.” Potter nodded his thanks. “Anyway, it doesn’t make sense for us to disrupt classes over and over again, so we thought we could have an assembly.”

“A what?” Minerva frowned. Neville looked interested - perhaps he had some idea of what Harry meant, Draco thought.

“An assembly. Muggle schools have them. They’re like… Like how Dumbledore always did announcements, just before dinner, only during the school day. Everybody has a break from classes - “

Minerva frowned. Harry hesitated. “…Or we could do it during lunch, or dinner, it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, everybody would gather here, I suppose, though we’d have to move the tables, or on the Quidditch pitch, or… well somewhere that everybody would fit, obviously. And then Draco and I would duel - for instructional purposes - just to give the students some idea of what it’s like. Most of them haven’t seen a duel, just heard of them.”

Minerva was frowning, but Neville looked intrigued.

“We could set up ground rules first, obviously,” Draco added. “Agree on which spells would be allowed and which would be off the table, as it were - “Harry grinned at his pun, rolling his eyes, and Draco grinned back - “and we obviously wouldn’t actually be trying to hurt each other.”

“Just embarrass, maybe,” Harry added, and Draco snorted.

“Quite. Anyway, it would all be quite safe, and…” he paused, searching for the right word.

“…Educational,” Harry finished for him.

Neville was nodding along, by this point, grinning widely. “Quite so, quite so. Fabulous idea, boys. You should get to work planning it out right away.”

Minerva coughed. “You’re actually letting them do this?”

Neville slanted a very _significant_ look at her. Draco wondered what that was all about, and then if he really wanted to know. Then Neville turned that same look on Teddy and Pomfrey, and Draco decided he definitely didn’t. That look boded trouble.

“But of course, Minerva, dear.” Neville said. “They’re adults now. They won’t hurt one another.”

“Right,” she muttered. “Of course they won’t.”

Draco wanted to bridle at her lack of trust in them, but found that he rather sympathized instead. It was… going against nature, it seemed, to expect that he and Harry could stage a mock-duel and _not_ have something go horribly wrong. He wished he could have the kind of confidence Harry and Neville did, but… Well. He’d just have to do his best not to let things get out of hand. Not that he had a good track record there, either, where Harry was concerned, he thought, frowning. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

“Ahem!”

Draco looked up sharply. Neville had risen, while he’d been busy struggling with self-doubt, and now faced the expectant students. Neville tapped his water glass, the magically-amplified bell-like tone ringing loudly in the suddenly-silent room.

“Ah,” Neville said, looking around the room. “Good. Now that I’ve gotten your attention, I’d like to make an announcement. Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy have just been speaking with me, regarding a brilliant idea they’ve had. I’ve given their plan the go-ahead, and I thought I’d share it with you all now, so that you can have time to speculate and place bets on the outcome. Now, now, Mister Zabini, don’t give me that face - I’m well aware that you represent the interests of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in the student body’s illicit - and significant - gambling preoccupation.” There was a wave of uneasy mutters, and Neville raised his hand. “Silence, if you please. Thank you. Now, as I was saying, I’m not going to attempt to quash your business, Mister Zabini, Mister Finnegan. Rather, I’d like a word with you after dinner, as I’ve several bets I wish to place myself.”

Minerva rolled her eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. Harry grinned at Draco, who found himself grinning back.

“Now,” Neville said, turning to indicate a bemused Harry and Draco, “I’m quite pleased to announce that some time in the near future, Professors Potter and Malfoy will be entertaining us all with a mock-duel.”

The mutters started up again, louder this time. Neville raised his voice. “Not, perhaps, a strict re-enactment of their past, rather infamous duels - but, I hope, a demonstration of proper dueling form and technique, the variety and scope of curses one can bring to bear on one’s opponent, and the truly clever ways in which one can devastate and quite thoroughly embarrass one’s opponent without actually hurting him. Or her.” He stroked his beard, managing, as Dumbledore always had, to look both wise and mysterious. “Now,” he continued gently, “let us all do our best _not_ to pester our two newest professors, and to treat them with the respect that they - and their positions - deserve.”

He turned back to regard them, a decided twinkle in his eye. For a moment, Draco saw Dumbledore standing before him, instead of Neville, and a chill ran down his spine. Then Neville spoke, and the spell was broken.

“Gentlemen,” Neville said, inclining his head to them. “I look forward to it.”


	24. Slumber Party

_Friday, October 13, 2017  
_

“So,” Tilly said, as Scorpius stared up at the expanse of stars twinkling across the inky expanse of their ceiling, wondering idly if he could count them all, if he tried, “what are you here for, Ivy?”

“ _Ivan_ ,” came the annoyed reply.

Al snorted softly. Scorpius closed his eyes, burrowing further into his side. “Shhh,” he muttered. “You’re not even supposed to be in here. Sneaking into Hufflepuff during the day is one thing. Sneaking into the boy’s dorm - into _our_ room - at night is quite another.”

Tilly sighed. “Please. I’ve put up silencing spells. You tested them yourself.”

“That’s not what I - “

“Ugh.” He could hear her rolling over, but refused to look. After a moment, he heard her flop back down. “Are you sure you’re not a Gryffindor, Scorp? You sure act like one sometimes.”

Sasha snorted. “Pretty sure Gryffindors aren’t particularly concerned with breaking the rules, Tilly. Surely you’ve heard the stories.”

Scorpius could feel Al’s grin against his neck. He’d heard the stories. They both had. Though he was pretty sure the version Al had heard was different than the one his father had told him.

“Whatever. Anyway. I want to hear Iver’s story.”

“ _Ivan_.”

Al snickered.

Scorpius scowled.

Sasha spoke up then, surprising him. “Actually, I want to know, too, Ivan.”

“Well. Since _you_ know my name. I suppose I can tell you.” He paused a moment, and Scorpius could almost see him scrunching his eyebrows, gathering his thoughts. “I… you know about my uncle, I guess.”

Scorpius remembered, suddenly, where he’d heard the name Creevey before. The war.

“Yeah,” Tilly said softly, the laughter suddenly gone from her voice.

Ivan swallowed. “He took photos. Well, you probably know that. But… he wanted to be a journalist. He wanted to be the sort of journalist that changed people’s minds. The kind that exposed injustices and made people care about people and animals and plants and places that they would never see.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “I guess I want to do that too. Only I’m not so good with a camera as he was. But I can write. Maybe I can find a camera whiz to travel with me on assignment. Assuming I ever get assignments.”

They were quiet for a bit, considering that.

Al yawned and turned, pulling the covers up to his chin and flinging one arm behind him, groping blindly until he snagged Scorpius’ hand, then tugging it around him with a contented sigh. Scorpius smiled into his adorably-messy hair and wondered who had decided that it made sense for them to share one of the four beds, while each of the other three got their own. Even though, technically, Ivan had his own bed somewhere on the other side of Tilly’s silencing spells. He suspected Tilly had had a hand in the arrangement - two, possibly - but couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

They’d separated the beds again, shoving them into the center of the room so there were only a few inches separating each one. The better for slumber party confidences, Tilly said. Scorpius thought she was probably making it all up as she went - according to some no-doubt dastardly scheme - but, then, he’d never been to a slumber party. Maybe there really _were_ all these complicated rules. Like the _You have to have a ‘moral support’ slumber party on nights your parents do embarrassing things in public that threaten your sanity_ rule that she’d cited when she suggested this mad endeavor, and the related _you cannot talk about said embarrassing things at the ‘moral support’ slumber party_ rule. Although, those he was _quite_ sure she’d made up on the spot.

It didn’t seem to matter, floating as he was, just at the edge of sleep, wrapped in the comfortable darkness and Al’s soft snores. They were like the ocean, he thought vaguely, like waves lapping gently over him. Like the quiet sussuration of wind in tall grass. Like the slow, even beating of his heart.

Sasha’s quiet voice floated out of the darkness to his left, pulling him back toward awareness. “You awake, Scorp?”

“Hmm?”

“I know we teased you and Al earlier, about being in Ravenclaw, and I know you said it was your motivation that placed you here…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I meant to ask earlier, but… what’s your motivation? Why _are_ you in Hufflepuff?”

Scorpius yawned. “Too tired to explain th’ details now. Ask me again t’morrow. But, Al and I - we both studied muggle science, when we were younger. And we grew up with Luna’s tales of magical creatures, and Nev’s tales of magical plants - ”

“What, Headmaster Longbottom?” Ivan asked sleepily.

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Anyway, Then there was Teddy’s heritage - “

“Werewolves, right?” asked Tilly.

“Yeah. And Dad’s interest in Potions… Anyway, we got t’ thinking, me and Al, that there’s a lot of things the muggle world gets right, and a lot of things the wizarding one does, and, well, a lot they both get wrong. And we thought that maybe we could find a way to sort of… nudge ‘em both in the right direction.”

“Hmm. So you’re combining, what, muggle biology and Potions?”

“Yeah, for starters. And genetics and chemistry and -” he yawned again, “- astronomy - both worlds have that, you know - an’ there’s some bioengineering techniques that could improve yield an’ accessibility of rare Potions ingredients, an’ make harvesting others more humane, an’ some green technology advances that might make it possible t’ make muggle technology compatible with wizarding households, an’…” he trailed off, yawning.

“Wow.” Tilly sounded impressed.

Scorpius smiled into the darkness. “Yeah. There’s loads more, but I’m too tired. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“I will. ‘night Scorp,” Sasha yawned, too, turning over and thumping her pillow.

“G’night.”

He let himself drift, again, and then Al’s even breathing carried him to the edge of sleep and over.

* * *

_Saturday, October 14, 2017_

When he woke, Tilly and Sasha were gone, beds neatly made, with no evidence they’d been there at all. Ivan was snoring softly, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and clutching the pillow to his chest. And Al - Al was staring at him, eyes wide and somehow soft.

“‘Morning sleepyhead,” he said, grinning.

Scorpius groaned. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

Al shrugged. “Not long. It’s early yet.”

“When did Tilly and Sasha leave?”

“No idea.” His grin widened. “I didn’t hear anything though, so they must not have got caught.”

“I certainly hope not,” Scorpius said darkly, “since Tilly would most likely find a way to pin all the blame on us.”

“Eh. We’d survive it, I’m sure. Now, come on - I’m starving.”

“You and your bottomless pit of a stomach,” Scorpius grumbled good-naturedly. But he threw the covers off, anyway, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Brrr! The floor is bloody _freezing_ this morning.”

Al hummed in agreement, then tossed a pair of socks at him. “Come on. No spending all day in bed - we’ve things to do!”

“Do we?” Scorpius couldn’t recall any such things. He shook Ivan’s ankle. “Come on, you too. If I’m going to be dragged off to do who-knows-what, then you’re coming with.”

Ivan groaned. “Where am I?”

Al snorted. “You’re probably twenty feet from your bed, Ivan. You can’t possibly be _that_ disoriented.”

“Oh. Right. What happened to the girls?”

Scorpius shrugged. “Who knows? They’re probably busy making horrid plans for us, though, so we’d best hurry.”

“Right.”

They bustled about, scrounging three clean sets of clothes between them, and then, after a quick visit to the bathroom, set out to find their fate for the weekend.

The girls were already eating when they arrived at the Great Hall - even though there was hardly anyone else there yet. Ivan slid into the seat next to Sasha, and Al and Scorp sat across from the two girls.

“So,” said Tilly, as soon as they’d sat down, “I was thinking - ”

“Told ya!” Scorp whispered to Al. Tilly kicked him under the table.

“Aaaanyway,” she continued, glaring at them, “as I was saying. I was thinking about Headmaster Longbottom’s announcement last night, about the duel…“


	25. Old Enough To Know Better

_Friday, October 13, 2017_

Minerva sat frozen in shock, glass forgotten halfway to her lips, listening with mounting horror as Neville made his announcement. Surely - _surely_ \- he must be joking. A duel. A duel in front of the _entire student body_. A duel between _Harry Potter_ and _Draco Malfoy_. She fought the near-overwhelming urge to… well. Something. She forced herself to maintain her bland expression as Neville shot her what could only be described as a _significant_ look. As if they were co-conspirators in this. As if this _duel_ was anything but a complete disaster in the making. She forced the bland look because, if she let herself react, she had no idea what that reaction might be. Laughing? Crying? Shouting? _Fainting?_ They all seemed equally likely, and equally embarrassing.

Neville grinned at her as he slid into his seat across the Head table, eyes twinkling merrily. Minerva smiled weakly back at him, but she knew from the way his smile hardened that her eyes betrayed her. She suspected they were flashing with the fiery glare she’d so often sent Albus Dumbledore’s way, when he’d sat where Neville sat now. She hoped they were, at any rate. She hoped they conveyed what she could not - would not - say in front of the students and other professors - the promise of dire consequences, just as soon as she got him alone.

Neville raised his glass to her and winked. Minerva seethed inside. Insufferable…pompous… the boy had grown to be far too much like Dumbledore for her liking.

Dinner dragged on interminably. The Great Hall resounded with the excited babble of hundreds of voices. All of them, she had no doubt, speculating about this mad plan, spinning theories, making wagers. Fools, the lot of them. Couldn’t they see what a truly terrible idea this was?

Minerva dutifully ate her dinner, made small contributions to the animated chatter at the Head table - but every bite tasted of ash, and she had no idea what was being said to her, or what response she made. She must have managed a semblance of coherency; no one questioned her lack of enthusiasm, at any rate.

She watched Neville out of the corner of her eye, waiting for the moment he delicately patted his lips, laid down his napkin, and rose from the table. She almost missed it, even so; he chose the moment Filius Flitwick dragged her into a debate about the theories posed in the latest issue of Charms and Transfigurations Quarterly to make his escape.

Minerva stood abruptly, as soon as she realized that the flash of color at the corner of her eye was the trailing edge of Neville’s emerald robes, slipping out the door. She shoved her chair back with enough force that it screeched along the flagstones and winced, patting it absently as she hurriedly made her excuses to a startled Filius and Teddy. She took a deep breath, composed her features, and then strode from the Hall.

“Neville!”

Her indignant shout resounded down the empty corridor, and Neville stopped short, turning with a resigned sigh and forced smile. “What is it, Minerva?”

She glared at him. “You know very well what it is! What, in Merlin’s name, do you think you are doing, allowing this duel to proceed? You do realize that Harry _just_ got out of the hospital wing? Poppy said he was suffering a PTSD flashback! And you’re going to put him in front of the _entire_ school, with _Draco Malfoy_ hexing him? After all the drama those two have been through this year - _every_ year?” She threw up her hands. “And you think this is a good idea, how?”

Neville stroked his beard, looking faintly annoyed. “Relax, Minerva. What could possibly go wrong?” He made as if to continue down the corridor.

She spluttered. “What could possibly go wrong? Longbottom! Don’t you walk away from me!”

Neville sighed. “They’re grown men, Minerva. As, you will find, am I. We’re none of us kids anymore.”

“Longbottom!”

“I’ve got this, Minerva. _We’ve_ got this.” He fixed her with an alarmingly penetrating look. “You’re planning to retire soon, aren’t you?”

Minerva frowned, thrown off-guard. “Well, yes, I suppose, but - “

“Next year - isn’t that what you said this summer, when we brought Teddy in as your successor?”

Minerva scowled. “Mister Longbottom! I fail to see how this is relevant! This… this… _duel_ … is a disaster waiting to happen! You have to - “

Neville interrupted her, speaking gently but firmly. “Minerva. You’ve done a wonderful job preparing us. We can take it from here.”

He turned resolutely and walked away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, whistling slightly off-key.

Minerva stared after him, too off-balance to protest. “This is _not_ going to go well,” she muttered.

The door to the Great Hall opened behind her, letting the cacophonous waves of voices bleed out into the corridor, lapping gently against the walls, until the door shut once more, abruptly cutting off the sound.

Poppy walked up beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. They stood quietly together, watching Neville saunter away. “That boy will be the death of me,” Poppy remarked conversationally.

Minerva snorted, voice cracking on a half-hysterical laugh. “Which one?”

Poppy didn’t reply, just squeezed her shoulder in silent comfort. “Come on,” she said, after a moment. “You look like you could use a drink. And, frankly, so could I.”

Minerva laughed weakly, eyes still tracking Neville down the corridor. “It’s a school night…” she protested.

Poppy took her by the shoulders and turned her, forcing her attention from Neville. She rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. One drink won’t hurt.” She hooked a thumb in the direction of Neville’s disappearing figure. “In the _highly_ unlikely event that an emergency crops up in the next forty-five minutes, I suggest we let Mr. ‘I’ve got this’ Longbottom handle it.”

Minerva snorted, allowing herself to sag against the cool, solid stones of the corridor as some of the tension drained out of her. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I suppose one drink couldn’t hurt.”

Poppy smiled. “That’s the spirit. Now, come on. If I’m not mistaken, I’ve got a bottle of Old Ogden’s in the back of my closet with our name on it.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows, but felt a spark of interest despite herself. “My, my… who would have thought?”

Poppy shoved her shoulder companionably. “Oh, hush you. I’ll have you know it was a gift.” She winked. “No sense letting it go to waste, though.” She linked her arm through Minerva’s, dragging her in the opposite direction to the one Neville had taken.

“They’ll be all right, won’t they, Poppy?” Minerva asked, dropping her head onto Poppy’s shoulder. “I know they’re adults now - Neville’s right about that, at least - and not my responsibility any longer, but…”

She trailed off, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Poppy muttered something under her breath that included the words ‘boys,’ ‘Longbottom,’ ‘hooligans’ and ‘idiots,’ and was decidedly uncomplimentary. Minerva felt the corners of her mouth twitch up into an uncharacteristically wide grin.

“Well,” Poppy finally said, “I reckon there’s not much they can get themselves into that we can’t get them out of again.” She shook her head; the loose strands of hair that had escaped her severe bun swished not-entirely-unpleasantly against Minerva’s cheek, tickling her ear. “They’ve got to learn sometime,” she added, half to herself. “We aren’t always going to be here to fix them up, after all.”

Minerva sighed heavily, but nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” She perked up slightly as Poppy let them into her comfortable rooms and deposited her onto a decidedly squashy sofa in front of the fire. “Any chance you’ve got any of those chocolate biscuits handy?”

Poppy laughed. “You’re in luck - my sister sent some just this morning. No - don’t get up. I’ll just - _accio_ chocolate biscuits!” She ducked and flicked her wand toward Minerva as a tin whizzed past her head; Minerva’s hand shot out to snatch it from the air, in a move that left her head spinning and her thoughts with a decidedly golden tint.

“Oof,” Poppy said, from her undignified sprawl on the floor. “Your quidditch reflexes have held up better than mine, I see.” She shook her head ruefully. “I’ll just fetch the bottle, shall I?”

Minerva looked down at the biscuit tin, clutched neatly in her hand - which looked far older than it had any right to - and laughed.


	26. Guidelines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and added dates at the top of each chapter, to make it clear when things are happening. I also created an associated Hogwarts calendar (Hogsmeade days, holidays, Quidditch matches, and chapters (number only, so no spoilers)) that I will update as each chapter posts. You can find it on my tumblr, here: http://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/19years

_Saturday, October 14, 2017_

Harry woke early Saturday morning. He felt the unfamiliar pull of a smile on his lips as he opened his eyes to greet the early morning sun streaming through his small window. He sat up, stretched his arms lazily above his head, stretching sleep-stiffened muscles, rolling out the familiar kinks and twinges, and laced his fingers together, cracking all his knuckles at once. Ginny had always detested that particular habit, but Harry had never quite managed to break himself of it. He shook the memory from his mind - he didn’t want to think about Ginny today.

He cast his mind back, sifting through the usual hazy dream fragments, searching for the source of his good mood. And then it hit him. _Of course. The duel._ It wasn’t the opportunity to sling hexes at Draco once more that he was looking forward to - though he could admit that the prospect held a certain appeal. No, he rather thought it was the opportunity to spend time with Draco, tease him, challenge him… perhaps goad him into divulging the hulking secret that clouded the air between them. Harry was sure that if he could just spend enough time with Draco, he’d be able to figure out what it was from the shape of the shadows that it left in Draco’s eyes.

But how to get Draco to agree to spending time together? He would need-

Harry grinned as a thought came to him. _Yes. That might do it._

With renewed vigor, and a curl of delicious anticipation in his gut that he hadn’t felt in years, Harry launched himself out of bed. He washed and shaved with extra care, and spent twice as long as usual in front of the mirror. He drew the line at spending more time than usual on his clothes, though. _It’s not like it would matter_ , he reflected with wry amusement. _I don’t own anything Draco would consider remotely acceptable anyway_.

Grinning at the mirror, Harry shot his reflection a quick thumbs-up, then grimaced at his own ridiculousness. He left his rooms with a spring in his step and took the stairs down to the kitchens two at a time.

He saw Draco, already lowering himself into his chair at the Head Table, just as he passed through the doors of the Great Hall. “Malfoy!” he shouted.

Draco looked up, obviously startled. His face twisted into a grimace that Harry hoped was mostly resigned, and not resentful. “Potter,” he said slowly, as if the word tasted funny in his mouth, “what do I have to do to get rid of you?”

Harry grinned and tossed him an apple from the covered basket that hung over one arm.

Draco’s hand shot out, displaying his still-sharp seeker reflexes as he snagged the apple out of the air. He sat for a long moment just looking at it, brow creased into a puzzled frown. “Potter?” Draco finally asked, “what’s this?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “An apple?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter…”

Harry grinned. He just couldn’t help winding Draco up like that. It was so… _satisfying._ He had to tread carefully, though - he didn’t want to annoy Draco _too_ much, since he wanted him to agree to Harry’s plan. _A quite brilliant plan, if I do say so myself._ “Breakfast,” he clarified.

Draco didn’t look convinced. Harry sighed, holding out his hand. “Just… come on.”

Draco didn’t move. “Come on, _where_?”

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and tugged, huffing in annoyance. “Outside. Come _on_. I figure we need to sort out some guidelines for this duel.”

Draco bit his lip. “About that… maybe it’s not such a good idea.”

Harry pouted. “Aw, come on. You can’t tell me you’re going to pass up an opportunity to throw hexes at me _without_ getting in trouble?”

Draco smiled - a reluctant smile, to be sure, but a smile all the same. Harry rejoiced internally. “Oh, I don’t know,” Draco drawled. “Maybe that takes all the fun out of it.”

Harry laughed, giddy with elation. Draco was yielding - he could feel it. He didn’t try to question _why_ he could feel it - why he knew what that felt like. He didn’t want to question it. There were only so many shocks his system could take today, he decided, and coercing Draco into doing what Harry wanted would probably use up all of them. There just wasn’t room in his schedule today for introspection.

“Right,” he said. “Come on, then.” He waved his extended hand in Draco’s face.

Draco hesitated again. “Why do we have to go outside?”

Harry grinned wider, bouncing slightly on his toes with pent-up energy. “I’ve been inside _all week_ and it’s bloody gorgeous out and if I spend one more minute stuck inside these walls I just might go crazy!”

Draco stared at him a moment, then said, deadpan, “I hate to break it to you, Potter, but that ship sailed a _long_ time ago.”

Harry snorted. “Har, bloody har. Just come _on_ , will you?”

Draco sighed. “Oh, all right.” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and Harry’s heart gave a funny little lurch even as he rejoiced to see it; he knew he’d have Draco’s attention so long as he could keep that curious spark alive.

* * *

“So, I was thinking,” Harry began, as he dragged Draco through the outer doors and across the castle grounds.

Draco grinned. “Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Harry cuffed him on the shoulder. “Quiet, you. Anyway, I thought we should probably not choreograph the duel - that would be boring - but we should maybe draw up a list of approved hexes and curses, and a list of those we’re not allowed to use.”

Draco stared at him for a moment. “That…actually makes a scary amount of sense. Are you sure you’re Harry Potter? Yes? Hmm. Did you by chance hit your head on anything this morning? Take any strange potions?” He turned suddenly, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and dragging him to a startled halt. “You’re not under _Imperius_ are you?”

Harry eyed him warily. “You’re scaring me, Malfoy. No, none of those things - this is all me, I’m afraid. Anyway, _Imperius_ doesn’t work on me, if you recall.”

“Hmm.”

“So…” Harry said, rolling his eyes, “as I was saying - “

“Avada Kedavra,” Draco said suddenly.

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry. Did you - did you just try to use the _killing curse_ on me?”

“What?” Draco stared at him, confusion writ large on his face. After a few moments of shocked silence between the two of them, Draco started to laugh. “Oh. _Oh dear_. You thought - “

Harry saw it at the same moment and grinned sheepishly. “Oh. You meant that should go on our list of disallowed spells. Yes, all right, I’ll give you that one.” He snorted. “Actually, lets just get the unforgiveables on there from the start.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, fine. You’re no fun, Potter. Though, if you can resist _Imperio_ , it wouldn’t be very satisfying anyway.” Then he sobered. “Sectumsempra, too,” he said quietly.

Harry drew a startled breath, feeling as if he’d just been punched in the gut. “Draco - “

Draco waved away his apology. “No, Potter. I wasn’t being serious - I know you wouldn’t use that one.”

“Not now that I know what it does, _”_ Harry muttered.

They walked in silence for a bit, kicking at small rocks and clumps of dirt.

When they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, on the far side of the lake from the castle, Harry decided it was as likely a spot as any. He cast about for somewhere to sit, finally setting on what turned out to be a rather comfortable stump. They were in a secluded pocket of trees, hidden from most of the castle grounds. He took a breath, drawing the heavy, wet scent of pine, damp earth, and growing things deep into his lungs. There were still trailing wisps of mist here, at the edge of the trees, lending everything a slightly-otherworldly cast. Harry felt the peace and stillness wrap around him, settle over his shoulders like a soothing blanket, and he sighed, letting his eyes drift closed as he relaxed. There was a small sound beside him, then, and he remembered Draco. He opened his eyes and looked up, not knowing exactly what to expect, and had to smile.

Draco was standing stiffly, eying the wet grass with distaste, mouth curled in the Malfoy sneer that Harry remembered so well from his childhood. Then Draco looked up, meeting Harry’s eyes and then looking past him, and his face split into a wide grin. Harry watched, fascinated, as Draco raised his arms over his head, the elegant line of his fitted robe sweeping down his spine, accentuating the lean lines of his body. He could see, suddenly, how the muscles in Draco’s back and shoulders would ripple with the movement. He tried to remember when he might have seen Draco’s muscles, to have such a clear… memory?… of them, but as usual, there was nothing. Just that swirling, confusing fog that obscured the only pieces of his last years at Hogwarts that he suspected he might actually want to recall.

Then Draco swung himself up, hoisting himself into the tree and settling into the branches. He stretched out, lounging indolently in a position that would be exceedingly awkward on anyone else, looking for all the world like some exotic bird. Harry stared, openmouthed, as past and present collided in his head. Draco in fourth year, before the Triwizard Tournament. Draco today. Fourth year. Today. Draco - both Dracos - opened his/their mouth/s and called “ _Potter!”_ Harry, delighted at the mischievous expression on Draco’s face - _his_ Draco, his mind supplied, though it didn’t clarify which Draco that was, when neither seemed particularly likely - doubled over laughing. Draco positively beamed.


	27. Reluctant Spies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay on this one - Mom and Grandma are visiting and my life is a bit more chaotic than usual (and my writing time has been eaten up with other stuff). These next 8 chapters or so are also a chunk that I needed to outline / figure out before I could really write any of them. Hopefully these next chapters will go a bit quicker now that I have a better idea of what's going to happen. :-)

_Saturday, October 14, 2017_

“Really?”

“Yes!” Tilly said, exasperated, waving her fork in the air for emphasis. Scorpius leaned back as she suddenly jabbed it toward him. “Your dads were here, well actually it was your dad, Scorp, and then your dad,” she turned to Al, waving the fork menacingly at him, “yelled at him across the room and tossed an apple at him.”

Al gasped in mock horror. “An apple? No!”

Sasha’s fork came down suddenly like a judgment from above, stabbing into the table beside Al’s hand and then standing there, quivering. Al stared, wide-eyed. “What the hell, Sasha?” he yelped.

She smiled at him - a smile with far too many teeth to be friendly. “Don’t say stupid things, and I won’t stab you.”

“Are… are you serious?”

She raised one shoulder in a languid half shrug, studying her nails - black, today, with tiny silver half-moons. “Shall we find out?”

Scorpius reached out with one finger to still the fork, then moved his hand to cover Al’s. “Let’s not. You’re kinda scary, you know?”

“Mmm. I’ve been talking to Enid.”

Al frowned, looking pointedly up and down the otherwise empty table. “Who the hell is Enid?”

Sasha nodded at a familiar girl straddling a bench at the Slytherin table, a pastry in one hand and a book in the other.

“ _That’s_ Enid?” Scorpius gasped.

Al looked horrified. “ _Scary chick_ is Enid?”

Tilly snorted. “Scary chick?”

Al and Scorpius shared a glance. “You didn’t hear her offer her… services as a model,” Al said grimly.

Scorpius shuddered. “A _nude_ model.”

Tilly frowned thoughtfully over her teacup at Enid, studying her. “Well. She’s gorgeous with clothes on. I imagine she’d be even better with them off. Are you going to paint her, then?”

Scorpius spluttered. “ _Ew_ ,” he managed, eventually.

“Ew,” Al agreed

Tilly turned her bright eyes back on them, cocking her head and studying them curiously. “Interesting. Don’t you agree, Sasha, dear?”

Sasha smirked. “Interesting, indeed.”

Ivan cleared his throat, fingers busy shredding his napkin into tiny pieces. “I think we’re getting off topic,” he said quietly.

Sasha sighed, but Tilly nodded . “You’re right,” she said, smiling at Ivan, “we are. At this rate we’ll never find out what they’re up to.”

“Why do they have to be up to anything?” Scorpius asked, still off-balance and feeling oddly disgruntled after their earlier conversation.

Tilly smiled mysteriously. “Oh, they are. Why else would Mister Potter have invited Mister Malfoy on a picnic? More importantly, why would he accept?”

Scorpius frowned, but didn’t have an answer for that. It didn’t sound like something his dad would do.

“OK, fine,” Al said. “Let’s say you’re right. What do you suggest we do about it?”

Tilly grinned. “Ah. Now you’re asking the right question. Sasha?”

Sasha held up a set of extendable ears. “We follow them, of course. Get these close enough that we can hear them.” She held the ears out to Scorpius.

Scorpius hesitated. “I dunno, guys. This feels weird, spying on my dad…”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Do you want to get them together or not?”

Scorpius took the ears.

“Come on, then!” Tilly grabbed Scorpius’ arm, steering him out of the Great Hall and out the front doors.

“How do you know where they’re going?” Al asked, falling into step beside Scorpius.

“I put a tracing spell on the basket when they were preoccupied,” Sasha said. “But we’ll have to hurry - my tracing spells are only accurate at short range, and they’re nearing the edge of it.”

* * *

In the end, the extendable ears weren’t all that helpful. They couldn’t get them close enough to pierce the privacy wards set around their professors. They watched the friendly banter, the way their faces suddenly closed off. Harry seemed frustrated; Draco looked sad and lonely.

Scorpius’ jaw dropped as his father clambered up into the tree. He’d never seen his father do such a thing. He hadn’t known his father knew how to climb trees. And he looked so… ridiculously elegant up there, like one of the absurd peacocks that dotted the Malfoy lawn back home.

And then Harry looked up and laughed, and the expressions on their faces… well.

* * *

They didn’t really need to see much more after that. They shared a significant glance, then Sasha cancelled her tracing spell. Ivan recalled the extendable ears - he’d proved to be the most adept with them - and, as they trekked back to the castle, explained sheepishly that he was a huge fan of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and he and his younger brothers had an extensive collection of their products. Sasha greeted this announcement with enthusiasm, and the mad light in her eye told Scorpius that she was already planning how they could use this unexpected resource.

They nodded to the older students, who tended to sleep later on weekends, as they passed them on the way to Al and Scorp’s “room.” The older students, already used to the girls coming and going, nodded their bleary greetings.

“It’s weird, you know?” Tilly said as she took a running start and launched herself at one of their extra beds. “Who puts first years in the same dorm as older students?”

“Er,” said Al, “Hufflepuff, apparently.”

Scorpius nodded. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing a dorm with second-, third-, and fourth-years, but so far it hadn’t been so bad. He hadn’t realized, at first, because they’d already claimed and sectioned off their spaces before the first-years had gotten into the dorms that first night. The various curtains and walls and privacy spells broke up the cavernous space so it felt more like a warren of cozy burrows instead of one large cave. He’d been nervous at first, but now he found he rather liked it. It felt… friendly. Certainly, it sounded better than what Tilly had told them of the Slytherin dorms – cold, damp, and impersonal.

Tilly shook her head. “Whatever. It’s not important I guess. Just weird. Scorpius!” she added, exasperated, “what are you doing?”

“Hmm?” He turned, puzzled, to find the others already draped over the beds. “Oh.” He must have been zoning out again. It had been awhile since he’d done that. Having Al - and the others - around all the time seemed to help. “I don’t understand,” he said, frowning, as he flopped backwards onto his bed and stared up at the stars that dotted their ceiling. “He’s never looked so…”

“Happy,” Al supplied, from his comfortable sprawl beside him. “I know. Mine either.”

“Well,” Sasha said thoughtfully, from her usual pose on what she’d claimed as _her_ bed, “there was clearly _something_ between them. More than the standard rivals / enemies story they always give, anyway. The way they look at one another - that’s not how enemies or rivals look at each other.”

Scorpius propped himself up on his elbows so he could see her expression. “But, that’s how they’ve always looked at each other. Well, since school started, anyway. But…” Some of the perplexing things his mother had said over the years suddenly clicked into place. “No. No, I’m pretty sure that’s how they’ve always looked at each other.”

Ivan blinked up at them from where he was idly flicking the pages of one of Scorpius’ art books. His eyes shone bright and naïve behind his unruly fringe. “How do they look at each other, then? If it’s not as rivals?”

Tilly, sprawled next to Sasha with her own art book, glanced at him pityingly. “Like a man dying of thirst looks at an ocean,” she said. “Like a blind man turns toward the light. Like Icarus looked at the sun.”

“Like a squib looks at someone who can do magic,” Sasha added quietly.

The room was bathed in a thoughtful silence as they digested this.

“That… that doesn’t sound like love to me,” Scorpius offered.

“No,” Sasha said quietly. “And yes. Love and despair go hand in hand, sometimes.”

Al spoke then, so softly they all had to lean in to hear. “Like you look at someone you once loved - someone you still love - but that you know you can never have again.”


	28. The Library

_Sunday, October 15, 2017_

The next time, Draco didn’t even make in through the doors of the Great Hall before Harry caught him.

“Malfoy! Oi! Malfoy!” Harry yelled, bounding up beside him like an overexcite-able puppy with a bright grin and a picnic basket once again slung over one arm.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. “ _Again_ , Potter?” Secretly, though, he was delighted, and he suspected his face was not quite as standoffish as he might hope.

“I thought we could go to the library today,” Harry said, jumping into a conversation Draco wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for this early in the morning.

“At least let me grab a coffee, first,” he pleaded, gazing longingly at the steaming cup that beckoned from his place at the head table. It was a vile drink, coffee - Astoria had introduced him to it, on one of their jaunts to the continent, and now he couldn’t imagine starting his day without it.

Harry rummaged in the basket for a second, then tossed him a thermos. “One sugar. Dash of cream. Will that do?”

Draco opened the lid cautiously, avoiding the puff of fragrant steam that escaped, and then stuck his nose in, breathing in appreciatively. “Mmm. Yes. That’s perfect.” He looked up, frowning. “Hang on. How did you know how I take my coffee? Actually, how did you know I drink coffee in the morning at all?”

Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Er, observation?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Potter. I have heard you called many things in my life - have called you most of them myself, in fact - and observant has _never_ been one of them.”

“Hey! I am, sometimes.”

“Really? Come now, Potter. Surely you can’t expect me to believe that.”

“Well… OK… mostly about you. But I really _am_ observant sometimes. It’s just that most of the things people expect you to be observant about don’t really interest me, I guess.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “And I do?”

“Er.” Harry frowned. “Just… come on.”

Draco sighed and followed Harry away from the Great Hall, after one last longing glance at the doors. “You do know,” he said, after a few moments of walking in silence, “that there’s no food allowed in the library?” He eyed the picnic basket hanging - quite conspicuously - over Harry’s arm.

Harry turned to grin at him. “Oh, you know me. I like to live dangerously.”

Draco snagged a candle from the nearest sconce and hurled it at the back of his head. Of course he caught it. _Bloody seeker reflexes_.

Harry stuck out his tongue, but the effect was ruined when Draco had to snag his sleeve to yank him back from the suit of armor he was about to crash into.

“ _Honestly_ , Potter,” he drawled, shaking his head, “you’re a bloody _menace_.”

* * *

Some three-quarters of an hour later found them comfortably ensconced in a secluded table at the back of the library, the early morning light streaming through the narrow window behind them and lighting up the stacks of books that littered their table. Dust motes danced in the air around them, kicked up as they leafed through books and jotted notes. The picnic basket was stashed on the floor beneath their chairs, and they both reached down occasionally to sneak a stealthy bite. It all felt very covert and illicit, and Draco was surprised to find himself loving every minute.

“Ooh,” Harry said, shoving his book under Draco’s nose and jabbing his finger at a spot halfway down the page, “this is a good one.”

“ _Obscuro vera_ ”, Draco read aloud - quietly, after a quick glance at Madam Pince, frowning at them from the front of the library - “ _Obscures that which is real. Most frequently countered by Revalio.”_ He smiled involuntarily. “You’re right - that is a good one.”

Harry stared. “Did… did you just agree with me?”

Draco frowned. “No, Potter. Of course not. You really ought to see a mind-healer about these delusions, you know - you’re clearly hallucinating.”

“I’ll show you hallucinating, you - “

Whatever Harry was about to call him was cut off as Madam Pince, looking just as stern and scary as when they were students, cleared her throat and stared over her spectacles at them. “Out.”

Harry blanched. “We were, that is - ”

“Out! And don’t you _dare_ bring food into my library again, Harry James Potter!” She rounded on Draco, fixing him with her steely glare. “As for you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, if I ever - “

Harry grabbed his arm, scooping their books into his picnic basket and tugging him toward the door. Draco followed, not particularly keen to find out what Madam Pince would do to him. It was bound to be most unpleasant.

They fled, laughing, pelting out the door and down the corridor, Madam Pince’s indignant shouts growing fainter behind them with every step. The basket was banging uncomfortably against Draco’s hip, his elbow was protesting all the strain, and his fingers were going numb in Harry’s iron grip, but Draco felt _alive_ in a way he’d not in years. He let out a joyous whoop as they dove through the castle doors, and into the brilliant afternoon sunshine.

Eventually they stopped, out of breath and gasping, in the same spot by the lake they’d used the day before.

“I _told_ you that food wasn’t allowed in the library!” Draco gasped out, after a long moment spent catching his breath.

Harry cuffed him none-too-gently on the shoulder and collapsed in an undignified heap on the grass. Draco hesitated for only a moment before joining him in his ungainly sprawl.

“So,” Harry said, rolling toward him, hand shielding his eyes from the early-afternoon sun, “care to practice?” Draco hesitated. “Come on,” Harry wheedled, “best give Madam Pince time to cool off.”

Draco opened his mouth, closed it. “Oh, all right,” he finally said. Harry grinned, and his heart skipped a beat.

* * *

“Oh, good one Potter! I think you might have terrified that leaf. Look, it’s shivering, poor thing - oh, wait. No, that’s just the breeze.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Prat.”

“Git,” Draco returned fondly.

“Let’s see you try, then,” Harry challenged.

Draco focused, waved his wand, and - “Ha! Look at that, Potter!”

“Woo bloody hoo. I’m shaking in my boots.”

“You’re not wearing boots,” Draco pointed out. “Really, I’m not sure what those things you’re wearing are, but they’re certainly not boots. Whereas these,” he gestured to his feet, encased in soft, buttery leather boots, “are the height of wizarding fashion.”

Harry sighed. “It’s an expression, Malfoy.”

Draco sniffed, looking down his aristocratic nose at him. “A muggle expression, no doubt.”

“Hmmm.”

* * *

“Potter!” Draco shouted indignantly, “What on _earth_ are you doing?”

Harry straightened, using the pause to wipe his brow. “Dueling?”

“No, you’re not,” Draco said decisively. “What sort of imbecile taught you proper form?”

Harry gaped at him. “There’s proper dueling form?”

Draco smacked his head. “Potter. However did you manage to defeat Voldemort?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He’d been doing that a lot, lately, Draco noticed. “So, I don’t know the proper form,” he said dismissively, “Big deal.”

Draco stared at him. “Potter,” he said carefully, trying to keep as much of the disdain he felt as possible out of his tone, “we are doing this as an educational exercise, yes?”

“Yeah?”

“Then we are going to use proper form.”

Harry sighed. “I told you, I don’t - “

“Well, I’ll just have to teach you then. Come here.”

“Malfoy…”

“Come. Here.”

“Right.”

* * *

“…You’re hopeless,” Draco declared eventually.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I could have told you that.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to ward off the headache that threatened. “No, no. I can do this. Just - let me think.” After a moment he opened his eyes. “Right. Meet me after class tomorrow. No - not here. Just… come to my classroom.”

Harry looked dubious. “O-kay,” he said. “See you later Malfoy.”

He turned, grabbed the discarded picnic basket, and loped off through the trees. Draco sighed, dropping back into his earlier sprawl and throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the sun. He had a _lot_ of work cut out for him.


	29. Dueling Lessons

_Monday, October 16 - Thursday, October 26_

Harry shooed his students out the door a few minutes early, then stood hesitantly outside Draco’s door, arm raised, poised to knock, debating with himself. He could just… leave. Turn around, walk back to his rooms. Out of the castle. Something. He hadn’t promised Draco that he’d show. He didn’t owe Draco anything. And yet.

The door opened, then, taking the decision from him. He stepped back to let the stream of giggling students pass, ignoring the pointing fingers and snickering from James’ friends. He’d faced worse, after all, than a few stares.

Draco looked up as he entered, and the smile that lit up his face - admittedly still-pointy, though less so than it had been - made it all seem worthwhile. Harry felt a shiver run through him, as he realized that Draco could ask anything of him, and all it would take was that smile to make Harry agree.

“What is it?” Draco asked, stepping closer and peering anxiously down into Harry’s eyes. “You had the strangest expression on your face just then.”

“Hmm? Oh. It was nothing.” Harry shrugged the disturbing thought away, using Draco’s presence in front of him as a lodestone for his wandering thoughts. They snapped easily back to him, and Harry wondered how often he must have done this, for the shift to be so automatic.

Draco still looked concerned, but he accepted Harry’s apology readily enough. “Thank you for coming.” He looked… nervous, Harry decided, and wondered what on earth Draco had to be nervous about.

“Sure,” he said absently, resisting the urge to poke about in Draco’s cabinets, remembering the last time he’d done so. A soft melody drifted through the air, and it took him a moment to register the change.

“Malfoy?” he asked, looking up warily, “why is there music?”

Draco straightened from where he’d been bent over a small box, fiddling with a knob on its front. “Surely you know what dancing is, Potter? Even if you are a heathen?”

Harry felt his breathing quicken, his eyes widening in alarm. “I…I don’t dance.”

Draco snorted. “Well, after your poor excuse for proper dueling posture yesterday, it’s not as if I’m surprised. Now. Come here.”

Harry hesitated.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter!” Draco rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to teach you proper dueling posture if you won’t cooperate?”

“ _Dueling_ posture,” Harry said pointedly.

Draco sighed. “Dancing posture _is_ dueling posture, Potter. If you can learn one, you can learn the other.”

“Malfoy…” Harry looked frantically around the room, hoping to find a convenient excuse for escape, but nothing was out of place. There were no students coming back to ask a question, or loitering to get into mischief. Draco was between him and the door. He was trapped.

“Come here, Potter.” Draco’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of command, and Harry’s feet obeyed without him thinking about it. He forced himself to stop walking once he realized, but he had already crossed the room to stand in front of Draco.

Harry sighed. He didn’t protest when Draco stepped even closer, nor when he reached out, claiming Harry’s hands. He gulped when Draco placed one hand on his waist, gripping the other tightly in one cool, dry hand.

Harry’s palms were sweating, and he had a near-overwhelming urge to wipe them on his pants, only Draco was still holding them. Then, Draco moved, drawing Harry along with him, and they were dancing.

“Potter!” Draco exclaimed, after Harry stepped on his toes for the fifth time in as many minutes, “have you ever danced before in your life?”

“Yes,” Harry said stiffly, “At the Yule Ball. And at the wedding.”

Draco cocked his head to the side, smiling oddly. “What, and Ginevra never asked you to dance with her again?”

Harry smiled sheepishly, trying to free one of his hands to scratch his neck, but failing. “Er, she said that if her toes ever recovered, she’d be sure to let me know.”

Draco snorted out a surprised laugh. “And who did you dance with at the Yule Ball, Potter?”

“Patil.” Harry grimaced at the memory.

“Ah. That’s right.” Draco frowned, suddenly, as if there was something about that memory that he found distasteful. Or… as if he were jealous?

“She also hinted that she might never recover,” Harry offered, hoping to restore Draco’s good mood.

Draco laughed delightedly, throwing back his head and tossing his spun-silk hair, which floated around his face like a dandelion puff as it slowly settled back to its normal style. “Poor Potter. Devastates the ladies with his dancing. No wonder you opted to try for wizards.”

Harry winced. “Malfoy…”

Draco rolled his eyes. “All right, all right. That was a low blow, I suppose. Still.” He broke off, glancing meaningfully down at his own toes, and then dissolved into snickers once more.

* * *

_Tuesday, October 17, 2017_

“What, _again_?” Draco asked, when Harry showed up at his classroom door the next day. He eyed the picnic basket meaningfully.

Harry hummed cheerfully. “Not exactly. Come on.”

They had a splendid time, that evening, sitting by the lake and skipping stones across the inky waters as the sun sank below the horizon. Harry produced cloaks, as the sky darkened and the air chilled, and spread a blanket on the ground. They lay quietly, arms almost-but-not-quite touching, and watched the stars flicker into existence.

It was late, when they returned to the castle, walking in companionable silence, wrapped in the weight of the velvet night. Harry hated for the night to end, when it came time for them to part ways. He reached out to catch Draco’s sleeve and opened his mouth, intending to ask Draco to - _To what?_ he asked himself harshly, as he stared into grey eyes that divulged no more than did the murky waters of the lake. To come into his rooms? For a drink? A kiss? A fuck? He didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know how to ask for it if he did. He closed his mouth silently, let his hand fall back to his side.

“Harry?” Draco asked, sounding worried.

Harry smiled, shaking his head softly, letting Draco ascribe whatever meaning he wanted to that exchange. Likely, he’d not think it meant anything at all.

Harry wasn’t sure whether that’s what he wanted or not, but he supposed he didn’t really have a choice. He nodded awkwardly to Draco, then turned and slipped into his room, shutting the door behind him without looking back. He didn’t want to know if Draco watched him. Or if he didn’t.

* * *

_Thursday, October 26, 2017_

“Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?” Harry knew Draco wasn’t on duty this weekend - he’d checked, none-too-subtly, with Minerva earlier. But there wasn’t any rule about whether professors could go; most just chose not to, or chose to go on weekends when the stores _weren’t_ swarming with students.

“Nah,” Draco said dismissively. “I’m not on duty, and I don’t particularly want to spend my weekend with the hordes - I see enough of the brats during the week.”

Harry knew, now, that he wasn’t serious. Draco loved his students, loved teaching - was good at it, even. Better than Harry, certainly, who just didn’t seem to have the knack of relating to his students the way Draco seemed to. Just one more thing in a very long list of things Draco was better at, Harry thought, rather more bitterly than he meant to.

“Good” he said, simply, and tossed something at him. Draco snatched it out of the air automatically, then looked at what he held in surprise.

“A snitch?”

Harry shot him what he knew was a lopsided grin. “Got your broom?”

“Yes…”

“Well, then. Meet me at the quidditch pitch. Ten minutes?”

“But…”

“I’ll see you there, Malfoy.” Harry saluted him cheerfully and swung his own broom over his shoulder, heading for the locker rooms. He still had a set of quidditch leathers, thanks to Ginny; he’d stowed them there earlier that day.

When he made it out to the pitch, properly outfitted, it was to find Draco sporting a similar kit.

“Nice uniform,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Draco smirked.

“Yours too, Potter. Shall we?” He waved the snitch

Harry grinned. “Go for it, Malfoy.”

Draco activated the snitch, tossed it into the air. Their eyes met in one blazing instant of perfect harmony, and then they were off, soaring into the air and chasing the glint of gold.

* * *

When they finally returned to earth, several seeker’s games later, it was to find the pitch littered with a sea of red and green. Most of their houses had learned of their impromptu game, it seemed, and had turned out to watch. Even most of those who had gone to Hogsmeade were there. Harry cast a quick tempus and was startled to find that it was later than he’d realized. He caught Draco’s eye, noting that their two houses seemed to get along much better, of late, and they shared a secret, delighted grin between them.

“Until next time, Malfoy,” Harry said, clapping Draco on the back.

Draco’s grin widened into a smirk. “Indeed, Potter.”

They wound their way back to the castle at the head of a strangely slithering snake of red and green.


	30. The Duel

_Friday, October 27, 2017_

The day of the duel dawned bright and clear. Harry felt his stomach drop the moment he saw Draco, sitting calmly at the Head table at breakfast, and was plagued by a sinking feeling of dread that got worse as the day progressed. The duel suddenly didn’t seem like such a bright idea at all. In fact, he was beginning to think it was the worst idea in the string of bad ideas that made up his life.

He couldn’t stomach any breakfast. Instead of eating, he sat and stared at Draco, who didn’t seem to be having any such trouble as he polished off his standard cranberry scone and coffee.

He should talk to Draco, call the whole thing off. It was a stupid idea, and while it had brought him more happiness than he’d felt in a very long time, these past few weeks, the fact remained that it was a stupid idea and he was very sure that he was going to regret it.

He should go and tell Draco, and then Neville. He should-

But then Draco was striding out the doors, and Harry had missed his chance. His shoulders slumped as he caught sight of Neville’s face, eyes sparkling with anticipation, and realized that he’d not have been able to get out of it anyway.

* * *

By lunchtime, Harry was a nervous wreck. His hands were twitching, so he hid them in his pockets, busying them fiddling with the scrap of paper that brushed against his fingers. It calmed him, slightly, enough that he thought he might brave the Great Hall.

He spent the meal pushing his peas around, to make it look like he was eating them. He couldn’t stomach a single bite. He tried, again, to talk to Draco, but he hurried in late, deep in conversation with Flitwick, then left early. Harry watched him go, feeling bile rise in his throat. He shoved his untouched plate aside with a grimace and stalked off to his classroom. He took more points from students that day than in all other days that year, combined.

* * *

They’d arranged to hold the duel before dinner. Neville had cancelled the last class of the day for everyone, so they could all watch. He’d drawn so many cheers, the day he’d announced that particular plan, even _sonorous_ hadn’t given him the volume to speak over them. Even the teachers had cheered.

* * *

Harry couldn’t decide if time were moving faster or slower than usual. Everything was just a bit off. Colors were sharper, more intense, except when they were faded and bled into one another. Lights were brighter-dimmer-brighter than they ought to be. His reaction times were faster - slower? - Or maybe it was his students, hyperfocused - distracted?

Harry frowned, blinking odd sparkles from the corners of his vision.

Class started. Paused. Resumed. Stopped. Students filed in and out. Harry taught. Or, he thought he did. He moved in a daze from student to student, unseeing.

* * *

“Professor Potter. Professor Potter!”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we go early?”

“Yeah, we want to get good seats!”

Harry put a hand to his forehead, squinted at them.

“Yeah. Sure. Go on, then.”

There was a whirlwind of motion as students grabbed their bags and dashed for the door. Harry reached out, caught the edge of one of the practice dummies, steadying himself.

“Professor…are you all right?”

Harry looked down, at a tiny girl whose name he couldn’t recall. Her blue eyes were wide, concerned. He forced a smile, racking his brains for her name. “Yes, um, Mel. I’m fine. Thanks. Go ahead - I’ll just… I need to grab something.”

She hesitated. “But, Professor…”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, more forcefully.

“Mel! Come on!”

She bit her lip, but, after one last searching look, she turned and ran off after her friends.

Harry sagged against the practice dummy. He couldn’t do this. There was something wrong with him. He’d have to go and find Madam Pomfrey -

“Harry!”

Neville appeared beside him, suddenly, clapping him enthusiastically on the back. Harry winced.

“Um. Hi, Nev.”

“You’re not hiding, are you? This is a duel, Harry, not hide and seek.” Neville chuckled, then steered him toward the door. “Come, now, Harry. I’ve a large sum riding on this duel, and I don’t intend to lose it before it even starts.”

Harry smiled weakly, allowing himself to be dragged toward the Great Hall.

 _It will be fine_ , he told himself firmly. _I’ll be fine. I_ will.

* * *

“Potter,” Draco saluted him with his wand, assuming flawless dueling posture. Harry felt a twinge of jealousy at his pure-blood grace.

“Malfoy,” he returned, with a salute of his own that was only slightly less graceful.

Neville’s magically enhanced voice rang out the moment they were in position. “Begin!”

Harry, looking out over the sea of students and feeling rather dizzy, wrenched his gaze back to Draco, who was watching him quizzically. The moment their eyes met, Draco grinned at him - a suspiciously devious grin, and whipped his wand through the air. _“Aguamenti!_ ” he shouted.

Harry leapt to the side and rolled, just narrowly avoiding the stream of water. He cast before he’d hit the ground. “ _Colloshoo! Aguamenti!_ ”

Draco, finding his feet stuck firmly to the stage they’d set up their dueling arena on - the castle having obliged them by removing all the tables and replacing them with stadium seats - bent backwards at what seemed to Harry to be an impossible angle. _Of_ course _the overachieving prat is insanely flexible_. The jet of water passed harmlessly over him, and he unstuck his shoes with a hasty _finite_ and straightened. He raised his wand, but Harry was faster.

“ _Inanimatus conjurus! Oppugno!_ ”

That was one of the spells they’d found in those dusty old books, before Madam Pince kicked them out of the library. Harry had been practicing it, secretly, with unpredictable results. It conjured inanimate objects, sure, but he hadn’t figured out how to control _which_ inanimate objects. He’d almost decided that there _wasn’t_ a way to control it - it would certainly explain why neither he nor Draco had ever come across it. Harry wondered, as he cast it, what would appear this time.

“Teacups!” he shouted, rolling his eyes. _Of bloody course._

Draco snickered and pointed his wand at the swarm of teacups. “ _Arresto Momentum. Ventus._ ”

Harry scowled as the teacups bobbed in midair, buffeted by the wind issuing from Draco’s wand. They’d hardly started back towards him when he cast again. “ _Depulso!_ ”

The teacups ricocheted back towards Draco, who rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter. Your imagination is sorely lacking. _Confringo!_ ”

The teacups shattered, littering the stage with brightly colored shards. Harry scowled at them. “ _Lapifors! Oppugno!”_

Draco smirked as a swarm of tiny rabbits began hopping around his ankles. “How… original.”

While he was distracted, Harry cast again, a nonverbal _Levicorpus!_

Draco glared at Harry from his new position, dangling upside-down by his ankles. “Liberacorpus,” he snarled, then, once righted, pointed his wand at the confused rabbits. “Inflatus! Draconifors! Oppugno!”

Harry jumped to the side, dodging a jet of flame that scorched the flagstones. “ _Immobulus! Homorphus!_ ” The dragons became teacups once more. Harry glared at them. “ _Evanesco!”_

Draco, however, had not been idle. With a shouted “ _Avis! Oppugno!”_ a flock of crows wheeled into being, diving toward Harry with murder in their eyes.

Harry, taking a cue from the dragons, growled. " _Fumos!"_ The stage filled with thick grey smoke. He aimed at the confused crows, picking them off one by one with a repeated " _Vera Verto!_ " He mentally thanked Minerva, as a succession of goblets thudded to the floor.

Draco coughed and waved smoke away from his face. “ _Homenum Revelio!_ ”

The smoke cleared, just enough for them to make out one another's shadowed forms.

_“Serpensortia!”_

_“Vipera Evanesca!”_

_“Flipendo!”_

_“Titillando! Accio goblet!”_

_“Finite Incantatum! Depulso!”_

Harry cast. Draco countered. Draco cast. Harry countered. The spells were flying fast, now; a haze of smoke hung over the stage, mixing with the acrid scent of ozone. The stage was littered with fragments of the things they’d summoned. Blood dripped slowly from a cut above Harry’s eye. He took advantage of a momentary lull to cast a hasty _episkey,_ aiming in what he hoped was the general direction of the cut. Draco, he saw, was doing the same to the shallow slashes on his arm. His left sleeve hung in ribbons, exposing pale flesh.

Draco looked up, met his eyes, nodded. Harry straightened, reeling his scattered thoughts back in and assuming the closest thing to a dueling stance that Draco had been able to teach him. He caught a flash of Draco’s fleeting grin, let the warm tingle of pride soak through him, and then cast a nonverbal cracker jinx while shouting _“Bombarda,”_ and had the barest instant to stare into Draco’s eyes, watching them widen in unmasked shock and horror as the final syllable of “ _Obscuro Vera!_ ” dripped off his lips, before the explosions started

Lights flashed, suddenly, all around him, as the firecrackers went off. Thunderous booms echoed around him, until he wasn’t sure whether the sound was coming from his surroundings or reverberating around the inside of his skull. The shrieks of the crowd dimmed and faded away into nothing, but the booming went on. Smoke drifted around him, obscuring his vision, lighting up with multicolored flashes of light. Red. Yellow. Purple. Blue. Green. Harry squinted, shoving his hand through his fringe, trying to see. It came away bloody. He couldn’t remember where he was injured, if it was serious. He couldn’t remember much of anything. He thought the explosions were still going on, but he wasn’t sure - his ears were ringing, now, and that drowned out everything.

He took a cautious step forward, still squinting, feeling the blood ooze slowly down his face. Drip. Drip. Drip. Squelch.

He’d stepped in something sticky that oozed unpleasantly under his shoe; he felt his foot slip under him and looked down, trying to see what he’d stepped on. He quickly looked up again, deciding he’d rather not know. He couldn’t quite remember…

His foot slipped again, and his knee screamed in pain as he wrenched it. He sank, grimacing, to the other knee, probing for a wound. He couldn’t stay here. They might-

The smoke parted ahead of him, revealing a tall, thin figure with a pale face and paler shock of hair.

Malfoy.

His left sleeve was shredded, and the dark mark stood out starkly against his bloodless skin.

Harry gripped his wand tightly in his fist, feeling a growl rumbling up from deep inside.

Malfoy.

Malfoy’s lips were moving, but Harry couldn’t hear anything over the pounding and ringing in his head. He tried to read Malfoy’s lips, but the dizziness intensified, making it a hopeless task. Then he saw green light gathering at the tip of Malfoy’s wand, streaking toward him…

Harry didn’t think. He threw himself sideways, out of the path of Malfoy’s curse, whipping his wand through the air and casting as he rolled.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

Malfoy’s face drained of what little color it had; a series of slashing cuts bloomed red on his chest and arms. He sank to his knees. His mouth opened; his lips moved.

Harry, suddenly uncertain, took a shaky step toward him. The world tilted sideways around him, and reality rushed back in, bringing with it the sound that had been missing. He looked frantically around him, ignoring the screams and shouts, until his eyes landed on the slumped body of-

Malfoy.

_Merlin, no. Not again. Draco!_

 

 


	31. Oblivious

_Previously:_

_Harry, suddenly uncertain, took a shaky step toward him. The world tilted sideways around him, and reality rushed back in, bringing with it the sound that had been missing. He looked frantically around him, ignoring the screams and shouts, until his eyes landed on the slumped body of -_

_Malfoy._

_Merlin, no. Not again. Draco!_

* * *

_Friday, October 27, 2017_

Harry rushed forward, stumbling on his injured knee, and scooped Draco into his arms. He closed his eyes, concentrating, and apparated them both to the hospital wing.

Of course, since both Madam Pomfrey and Susan Bones were in the Great Hall with everyone else, it was empty.

Harry stood in the middle of the spotless ward, dripping blood and sweat and grime, and hesitated. He should put Draco down, go back for Pomfrey. He should do what he could for the wounds. He should…

He lay Draco on the nearest bed, winced as he smoothed the pale hair back from his face. He’d never meant to injure him.

 _Don’t die, Draco,_ he pleaded silently, _please don’t die._

He scowled. _I’ve not even found out what we were to one another - what we could be. You can’t die now - I won’t bloody let you._

He closed his eyes, gathering his magic, casting back in his memory for the words Snape had muttered as he’d healed Draco the last time - the countercurse. When he was sure he had it, he lowered his wand, until the tip hovered just over the first, widest cut, and cast. The words whispered past his lips, shivering in the too-silent air: _Vulnera sanentur._ Slowly, slowly the wound closed, skin knitting itself under his watchful eye. He nodded, moved to the next, voice rising, gaining confidence. _Vulnera sanentur. Vulnera sanentur._

* * *

Madam Pomfrey rushed in just as he finished closing the last of the gashes. She took one look at him, nodded, and then practically shoved him at the neighboring bed. “Out of my way while I check… good. You’ve done a good job, Potter, but he’s not out of the woods yet - he’s lost a lot of blood. No, don’t even _think_ about walking out that door. You’re injured - don’t think I don’t notice you favoring that knee. Up on the bed with you, that’s right.” She bustled by, tossing him a wet cloth on her way back to Draco’s side. “Clean up with that; you’re a sight to look at. You’ll frighten the lad half to death if the first thing he sees when he comes to is you looking like that. Why Longbottom ever agreed to this ridiculous duel in the first place…”

Harry, accepting that he’d patched Draco up as well as he could and Madam Pomfrey could handle the rest, sighed and leaned back. He groaned as all the aches and pains suddenly caught up to him at once, and his knee gave a decidedly ugly twinge when he tried to roll his pants up to get a look at it.

“Honestly, Potter,” she said at his elbow, startling him, “Sectumsempra, really?” She shook her head, then continued before he’d finished formulating a response. “And then you just disappeared. What the hell were you thinking?” She waved a bottle of her special healing ointment - Harry had become quite familiar with that particular ointment over the years - under his nose.

“Er,” he said, reaching for the ointment, “apparating?”

She yanked it out of his reach and stared at him. “Apparating. _From within Hogwarts_?”

Harry scratched uncomfortably at his nose. “Er?”

“For the love of - “ Pomfrey sighed. “ _Boys_ ,” she huffed, slapping the ointment into his palm with rather more force than Harry deemed strictly necessary. “Slather it with this. Again in an hour. Then every two hours. Don’t even _think_ about moving - you’re staying here for the night, where I can keep an eye on you. On _both_ of you.

She marched away, still grumbling under her breath.

* * *

Harry lay on the bed next to Draco, waves of guilt washing over him at the knowledge he’d hurt him so badly - again. He heard Draco start muttering, low, under his breath - saying things he suspected Draco would never tell him, if he weren’t so loopy with pain meds. He fought the urge to listen, to hear the secrets Draco concealed from him; guilt, and the determination to never hurt Draco again, won out. He fumbled for his wand on the table beside his hospital bed, muttering a _muffliato_ the moment his fingers closed around it.

Wrapped in a cocoon of silence, aching with loneliness and guilt, he let himself wallow in grief and self-pity. All those attack articles they’d printed, when he’d dropped out of Auror training, had been right all along. He was a monster. He probably _should_ be institutionalized, and certainly not charged with the care of children.

He shifted, trying to ease the sting of his wounded knee, another wave of guilt crashing over him. He _should_ be in pain, after causing Draco so much worse. He deserved it. He closed his eyes, letting the waiting tears spill over, trickle down his cheeks.

 _Draco was right all along_ , he thought bitterly. _I’ll only ever hurt him._ His chin firmed with resolve, even as the tears flowed faster. _Well. All right. I can’t leave in the middle of the school term - I owe Neville and Minerva that much. And Hogwarts._ He yawned, edging closer to the yawning blackness of sleep. _I’ll meet with Neville tomorrow, first thing, and discuss finding a replacement. And I’ll respect Draco’s wishes - he’s certainly told me enough times. I’ve been a fool for pushing him. Starting tomorrow, I’ll leave him alone…_

* * *

_Saturday, October 28, 2017_

He fell into a restless sleep, plagued by half-remembered dreams full of screams and the sound of tearing flesh, but woke a few hours later, in the early hours of the morning, with the certainty that he couldn’t stand to be there when Draco regained consciousness. He didn’t think he could stand to see the bitter recrimination and hate that he knew he’d find in those expressive gray eyes.

He sat up, groaning softly as he tested his injured knee, but Madam Pomfrey’s salve was as good as he remembered - the knee ached fiercely, but held. He reached blindly for his glasses, jammed them onto his nose, and stood up, then grabbed the jar of ointment as an afterthought. Grimacing as his knee twinged in protest, he hobbled as quickly and quietly as he could back to his rooms.

* * *

_Wednesday, November 1, 2017_

Neville, channeling Dumbledore at his most infuriating, talked him out of leaving until the end of the year. Harry, after a good twenty minutes of shouting, gave in. Neville could be remarkably stubborn when he wished - _it’s the Gryffindor in him_ , Harry thought moodily as he stomped down the stairs from his office. He didn’t have time for breakfast, which didn’t improve either his mood or his pounding headache. His students, after one look at his face, set to work silently and with a minimum of fuss. Harry, deprived of even this release for his emotions, sat at his desk and glowered at them for the entirety of the class period. He never said a word

* * *

He avoided Draco after that, with surprising success. He took all his meals in his rooms, where he spent almost all the time that he wasn’t teaching. He used Hermione’s secret locking spell - developed while on the run, during the war - on his door. It had repelled all muggle and wizard attempts to open it, during the war and after. She was still testing it, he knew, but had no doubt it would be employed by ministry elite one day. Until they worked out a way to break it, he was secure in his privacy.

It needed a keyword to work. He keyed it to open with Draco’s name. Draco, not Malfoy. He doubted anyone would guess that.

* * *

Sometimes, when the walls of his room closed in on him, he flew out the window on his broom, wrapped securely in his invisibility cloak, and arrowed away over the Forbidden Forest on long, aimless flights. He avoided civilization, preferring not to be recognized, and always went far away, where no one would think to look.

 


	32. Obscuro Vera

_Friday, October 27 - Thursday, November 9_

Draco knew something was wrong as soon as his _Obscuro Vera_ hit Harry and he didn’t immediately cast the countercurse, like they’d practiced.

He knew for sure when Harry shouted “ _Bombarda_ ” at nearly the same instant, and suddenly the air was full of haze and smoke and flashing lights and the sound was deafening. He sent a half-hearted “ _Slugulus eructo_ ” in the vague direction of where he thought Harry had been standing, but couldn’t tell if he’d even come close.

Then Harry, looking shell-shocked, expression blank, stepped into view. He stared at Draco, but it was as if he didn’t see him at all - and then his gaze locked onto the dark mark, visible through the shredded sleeve on his wrist, and Harry tensed. Draco could practically hear him growl. He had only an instant to react, when he realized with a bolt of shining clarity what Harry would do, which curse he would use. He stood and took it, wand held loosely at his side. Because Harry - his Harry - was once again slashing him open. And for that instant, looking into Harry’s dead eyes, Draco believed that it was what he deserved.

And then everything went dark.

 

* * *

He came to in the hospital wing. He recognized the over-bright, faintly blue magical light, the astringent lemon-scented air. And Harry, lying on the next bed. And then Madam Pomfrey bustled between them, tipping a series of potions down his throat - each more vile than the last - and the pain receded, taking the vaguely-crimson-tinted vision with it, but he could feel his shield and carefully-constructed walls slipping away along with the pain. The potions loosened his tongue, and he found words falling from his lips quite without his permission. He knew he would regret it, later, once sanity returned, but a part of him was glad to tell Harry, finally, what he felt. He listened, from the fuzzy, far-away place that his reason had fled to, as he began to tell Harry about the memories he obliviated. About the too-brief, tumultuous, and agonizingly perfect time they spent together. About his reasons for pulling away. He faltered, there, just for a moment. Harry hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t acknowledged him at all, as he lay silent in the next bed, facing away from Draco. He couldn’t stop, though - the words kept falling, falling…

* * *

_Saturday, October 28, 2017_

When he emerged from the medicated sleep he’d finally succumbed to, Harry was gone. He stared blankly at the white-tiled ceiling, and wondered if death might not have been easier than seeing the rejection in Harry’s eyes, next time they passed in the hall or found themselves seated across from one another at the Head table. He winced. Well. He knew how to hide behind a mask. He’d finish out the year - he owned Neville and Minerva that, at least - and then he’d find something else to do with his time. He wouldn’t impose on Harry again.

* * *

_Wednesday, November 1, 2017_

It was astonishingly easy to avoid Harry, after that. He never came to meals, Draco discovered, when Madam Pomfrey released him from the hospital wing and he braved the Head table once more. He expected pitying glances and snide remarks from the other professors, but, after a few inquiries after his welfare, they treated him the same as they always did. He caught snippets of conversation and tidbits of gossip about Harry’s sudden disappearance, and he tried not to listen. From the snatches he managed to glean, however, he was startled to find that no one seemed the last bit surprised. “Oh, well,” they all said, shrugging, “that one’s always been a bit of a loner, hasn’t he?” “He’s had a hard life, poor lad. Let him be.” “He still teaches - so what if he doesn’t want to socialize?”

Draco didn’t know how they could possibly be so flippant about it. It was _Harry_. The few fleeting glimpses he caught of him showed him a face drawn and pale, a mouth that no longer smiled. Eyes that failed to shine.

* * *

None of them remarked on Harry’s frequent absences from the castle. But, then, he supposed, they probably didn’t even know. Likely only Draco - armed with the secret tracking spell he’d placed on Harry when he left him, to keep himself from going insane with worry while Harry was out hunting Horcruxes and fighting his war - knew how little time Harry actually spent in his rooms.

Draco lay in bed, night after night, watching the gently pulsing green dot in his mind that was Harry.

He considered ending the spell, cutting that last link, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. _At least with this I know he’s still alive._

* * *

Fights broke out, once Draco had recovered, over who had won the duel. A great deal of money had changed hands, Draco was astonished to find, and the students were getting restless. Neville settled the matter at dinner, clapping his hands and declaring that, while Harry had technically won the duel, he’d done so by using a spell they’d expressly forbidden beforehand, and was therefore disqualified. Thus, he’d cheerfully proclaimed, there had been no winner, and so all bets were off.

Draco thought, bemusedly, as he stared out over the agitated student body, that the cheers and boos that followed the Headmaster’s announcement very nearly cancelled one another out.

* * *

After spending so much time the preceding weeks interacting with and thinking about Harry, Draco found himself with a rather startling amount of free time. He spent a great deal of it staring at the unadorned walls of his rooms, at a loss as to how to occupy his newly empty free hours.

Luna showed up before he’d hit on a solution.

* * *

_Thursday, November 9, 2017_

“Draco!” she exclaimed cheerfully, launching herself exuberantly into his arms.

“Oof,” he said, then, “hullo, Luna. What brings you here?” He pried her arms from around his neck and stepped back, taking in her appearance. “You look… good.”

He was surprised to find it was true. Her clothes were as zany as ever - a blinding patchwork of clashing colors and patterns and textures, layered skirts, mismatched socks, and gauzy sleeves that nearly dragged the floor - but they suited her, now. She’d grown into her looks, he realized, admiring her, and somehow made bizarre seem beautiful.

She wore her hair long and loose, and it floated crazily around her face, spilling down her back in a riot of color. The pale strands were streaked with vivid pinks, blues, greens, purples, and oranges, dotted with braids, feathers, and beads. She was a walking rainbow, carrying the sun with her wherever she went, and she breezed through his room, turning over his few posessions and announcing that he was plagued by “the worst case of Wrackspurts I have ever seen.”

Draco threw back his head and laughed. “Thanks, Luna.”

She tilted her head to the side, birdlike, and studied him intently. “For what?”

“For being you.” He held out his arm. “Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner, my lady?”

She giggled, slipping her arm through his and crooking her elbow. “Why thank you, kind sir. I would be honored.”

He had the fleeting thought that he wished Harry would show up to dinner, just this once, to see how happy Draco could be without him. But then Luna said something ridiculous, and his resulting laughter pushed it from his mind.


	33. Halloween

_**A/N: It has been suggested that this chapter is confusing - that it is difficult to tell when things are happening. After rereading, I am not surprised. So. If it helps, we begin with Harry on Halloween, locked in his room, drinking to forget. Cut to a bit later, he's still sitting by the fire. Then, flashback to the previous spring when he realizes his memories have been tampered with and goes to Hermione. Brief cut to the present, where he's sitting by the fire, drinking. Then a dazed/drunken dream/vision/hallucination/whatever with his patronus. Then, finally, he passes out.** _

* * *

_Tuesday, October 31, 2017_

Halloween.

Harry _hated_ Halloween. Not because of the ridiculous frivolity, the tricks and treats and mayhem – those he didn’t mind, really. Those were just kids being kids. No, what Harry hated about Halloween was that to everyone else, it was a day of playing and laughing and feasting. While to him… to him it was the day that his parents died. The day that Voldemort destroyed the Potter family, dooming Harry to a childhood of being unwanted, forgotten, enslaved.

Harry dropped his head into his hands. At least he didn’t have to teach today. Thank Merlin for that. Tomorrow he would have to teach, of course, since half-term break would be over. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

He stared morosely at his agenda for the day, lined up on the small table he’d scrounged from an abandoned classroom and pulled up beside his chair before the fire. Firewhisky, several bottles - the strongest he’d been able to find - and, for later, a bottle of the strongest hangover potion money could buy. He poured a generous measure of firewhisky, held it up to the early-morning light. The light shimmered on the surface of the dark amber liquid, glanced off the cut glass panes of the tumbler.

“Happy Halloween,” he said, voice rough with unshed tears, and raised the glass to the small photograph on his mantle where his parents stood, arm-in-arm. They smiled sadly back at him.

* * *

Some time later – he didn’t know what time it was, but he was well into his second glass – he pulled out the small piece of paper he kept in his pocket and started to fidget with it, folding and unfolding the well-worn creases. He read again the familiar word, etched into his memory in letters of flame.

 

_Potter_

He crumpled the paper in his fist, sighing. _Draco_.

* * *

He’d dreamed it, the first time. Had awoken confused, soaked in sweat, with unfamiliar images dancing at the edges of consciousness. And one word, standing out sharply against the hazy background of the dream.

It had taken him ages to figure out that it was Draco he was dreaming about. Then ages more to realize that it wasn’t a dream - not exactly. Little things kept repeating - things that were too consistent and specific to be mere coincidence.

He’d gone to Hermione, of course. That’s what he’d always done when confronted with something that he felt he couldn’t handle… and even without Ron, Hermione still filled the same role in his life. He trusted her, where he didn’t trust anyone else. Not even Ginny.

* * *

_Monday, March 13, 2017_

“Ms. Granger? You have a visitor.”

Harry forced a smile for the bouncy young secretary, who tucked a strand of bright red hair behind her ear and grinned at him as she replaced the receiver. “Go on in.”

Harry smiled in earnest as he stepped into Hermione’s office, and found her, as usual, nearly buried behind precarious towers of books, scribbling furiously. She held up a hand to stop him, never looking up. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

He stood silently, content to watch her work. It was so familiar, seeing her like this, and he felt a pang of nostalgia.

She looked up before his thoughts turned maudlin, and frowned. “Hello, Harry. There’s nothing new for you to sign. Didn’t Ginny tell you? We’re just waiting for things to get approved now, and - “

“I’m not here about Ginny, Hermione.”

“Oh.” She straightened, adjusting her glasses and then folding her hands on the surface of her desk. “All right. How can I help you, Harry? Is this personal, or professional?”

He hesitated. “Personal,” he said finally.

She nodded and reached out to pick up the phone that was shoved precariously close to the edge of the desk. “Liv? I’m taking a break now, OK? Will you let Pansy know when she gets back? I should be back - “ She stopped, covering the receiver, and looked at Harry. ‘Half an hour?’ she mouthed.

He hesitated again, and she nodded, uncovering the receiver. “I’ll be back in an hour, Liv. Yes, I know we’ve reservations. Can you reschedule that for next week?” Harry opened his mouth to object, but she shook her head, sending her frizzy hair flying. “Right. Thanks, Liv. Yeah, tell Pansy I’ll make it up to her tonight.”

She grinned as she put the phone down, and Harry rolled his eyes, grimacing. “How did you get a muggle telephone to work here?” he asked curiously.

She gave him a sly wink. “It’s not a muggle telephone. Not exactly. It’s me and Pansy, Harry - what did you expect?”

He shuddered slightly, still not used to that unlikely partnership, no matter that they’d been together for nearly as long as he and… He felt himself slump back against the wall, mourning the loss of their relationship more than Ginny herself.

“Right. Come on, then.” Hermione snatched her coat in one hand, snagged his arm with the other, and marched them out the door.

“Er. Where are we going?” He waved helplessly at an amused Liv as they passed her desk.

“Well, it seems the least you could do is buy me lunch, since I’ll be missing my reservation.”

“Er. Right. Of course.”

Hermione grinned at him and tugged him down the street to a quiet little cafe. Once they were seated on the patio, at a quaint wrought-iron table, and the server had taken their order - soup and sandwiches and tea - she turned to him. “Right. Now, what is bothering you so much you interrupted me at work?”

Harry flinched. “I’m sorry, I - “

“No, no.” She waved away his apology. “I don’t mind - Blaise drags Pansy away for bitching sessions regularly. I just meant that _you_ never have before.” She fixed him with a penetrating stare, ticking her points off on slender fingers. “Your divorce is proceeding without any real trouble. Your family situation hasn’t really changed. You don’t have a job - you don’t _need_ a job. So… what is it? What do you need _me_ for?”

He sighed, but it was as good an opening as any. “I’ve been having these dreams…

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes and sat back, biting her lip. “Well, it’s definitely a memory. You’re right about that. Trouble is, I can’t tell you anything else. I _think_ you’ve been obliviated, but it’s incredibly delicate work - whoever did it had finesse and skill.”

“But… how do you know? Can you undo it?” Harry looked at her hopefully, but she was already shaking her head.

“There’s no test for this sort of thing, Harry. No cure. The only person who could restore your memories is the one who took them away in the first place.” She leaned back in her chair, studying him. “Do you know who that might be?”

“I…” he trailed off, thinking of the lithe figure that haunted his dreams, the moonlight-pale hair. “No.”

“Harry…”

“I - I’m not sure.”

She frowned. “You’ll tell me later?”

He hesitated. “I - how can you be so sure this is what happened?”

She gave him a _look_ that said clearly what she thought of his obvious subject change, but humored him. “You remember how I obliviated my parents? During the war?”

“Yes?”

She took a sip of her tea. “Well. When I went back and restored their memories…” She trailed off, staring pensively into space.

It had been a hard time for her, Harry remembered. One she didn’t talk about with anyone.

She shook her head, eyes returning to Harry from the distance she’d been staring into. “Anyway. It was… tough. They didn’t believe me, for the longest time - wouldn’t let me close enough to restore the memories. They had little things they fidgeted with - like that piece of paper.”

Harry looked down, surprised.

Hermione reached out, touched his arm. “Harry. What does it say?”

He hesitated, then unfolded it. It had only one word - the one that had been burned into his brain when he woke from the dream the last time. He hadn’t realized he was still carrying the slip of paper around. He looked up into Hermione’s eyes - eyes that were far too knowing and sympathetic.

“But… you restored their memories,” he said slowly, looking at the paper instead of her eyes. “They’re fine, now.” He glanced up, needing to see her response, as well as hear it.

Her shoulders sagged. “Yes. And no. I mean… I did eventually restore their memories. And they were glad to get me back, of course, but… it’s never been the same. I don’t know how much of it is just that I’ve grown up, fought a war, and so of course our interactions are different, but… Well. They don’t trust me.”

She fiddled with the ring on her fourth finger, the elegant emerald glinting in the light. She looked back up to him, and her eyes were bright and liquid with unshed tears. “Harry,” she said softly. “Harry you - you have to be sure about this. It might not… things might not work out the way you want them to.”

“I want my memories back, Hermione,” he said coldly. “I want to know what he - what _Draco_ stole from me. I want to know if - “ His voice broke, and he finished in a whisper. “I want to know if I was ever truly happy - if I’m even capable of it.”

Hermione nodded. “Well. The first thing to do,” she said briskly, all business once more, “is to get close to him. He’s never going to restore your memories unless he trusts you.” She paused, took a deep breath. “And, Harry… _you_ have to trust _him,_ too.”

* * *

_Tuesday, October 31, 2017_

Harry snorted and poured another glassful of firewhisky, staring into the dancing flames. _Like_ that _could ever happen. Especially after what I did…_

* * *

He could almost see it, now. The missing memories shivered in and out of existence before him, too insubstantial to make out in the gloom. Their edges frayed, wavered, bleeding out into one another. Harry snarled, frustrated, then sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe he should give up on trying to remember. Draco obviously didn’t want him to. Maybe Hermione was right - maybe he _should_ try to let it go and move on.

The only problem with that was that, without Gin and the kids, he felt so adrift. If he let go of this too, left Hogwarts, let the memories fade, let go of Draco… He would have nothing. He would _be_ nothing. Just Harry, the way he’d always wanted. Only, he’d wanted to escape the fame - not his friends and family. Not his entire life.

Something nudged his shoulder, and Harry’s eyes flew open, instantly alert in the way that had never left him, after the war. He smiled and relaxed as the great silver stag shook its antlers at him and pawed the ground with a snort. He reached out to pat its nose, but the stag danced out of his reach, tipping its head insistently to the left.

Harry’s eyes followed the motion, widening as he saw the shining silver river that wound through the clearing he stood in. He followed its meandering path, saw it enter the trees and change, suddenly, into a silver ribbon that twined around and through nearly all the trees, bathing the forest in its luminous glow. Moonlight, he thought, and looked up, but the sky was dark. He looked back at the silver ribbon, the trees, and saw that they weren’t trees at all, but memories. The insubstantial memories were wrapped lovingly in the ribbon, and Harry turned, slowly. The silver ribbon was wrapped up in almost _all_ the memories. He sank to the ground then, overwhelmed.

He’d never be able to let Draco go, let this go. He was wound too tightly into Harry - cutting him out would destroy everything.

* * *

Harry fell out of the vision - and out of his chair - and landed in an unsteady heap on the floor before the fire. He blinked blearily as the half-empty glass - his fourth? he'd lost count - fell from his limp fingers and wobbled across the floor, leaking a slow trickle of amber liquid as it rolled.

He dropped his head to the bare floor, too weary to fight his way back to his feet, and let the welcome blankness of sleep claim him.


	34. The Plot Thickens

_Saturday, November 4, 2017  
_

“Ugh! Your dads are _impossible!_ ” Tilly groaned, dropping Scorpius’ latest copy of Modern Portrait Painting Monthly - which she’d been holding up over her head, for a different perspective - over her face.

“Tell me about it,” Scorpius muttered, dabbing angrily at his canvas. “I’ve hardly spoken to him in weeks. I didn’t mind so much when he was so obviously happy, but - hold _still_ Ivan!”

“Sorry! It’s the a-a-a-“

“Don’t you dare!”

“A-choo! Addergies.” Ivan sniffled miserably.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Only _you_ would be allergic to Mandrakes. Remind me not to be your partner in Herbology next year.”

“Actually,” Tilly said slyly, emerging from under the magazine, “you have only yourself to blame, Scorpius. If you hadn’t insisted on helping Professor Longbottom this morning…”

Scorpius glared at her.

“Break time!” Al called cheerfully, dragging Scorpius away from his canvas and distributing the cauldron cakes he’d just brought from the kitchens. “Had to bribe the house elves, but I got them.”

“But -“ Scorpius protested weakly

“Yes!” Ivan shouted, diving off the stool and onto the bed next to Tilly, who rolled her eyes and swatted him with the magazine.

Sasha chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Maybe,” she said, “it’s time for us to do something.”

“But what can we do?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing,” Scorpius said bitterly, still stung by the way Neville had shot down his ideas a few hours before. Not that Neville wasn’t right, probably, but… he was still bitter at being dismissed out of hand.   “We’re just kids.”

“Actually,” Tilly said slowly, “I think I might have an idea…”

They all groaned.

“Merlin, Tilly, not another one!” Sasha exclaimed.

Tilly chucked a pillow at her head.

And so began the Great Pillow Fight of ’17.

* * *

When they’d flopped back down, exhausted, Tilly spoke again. “I mean it though,” she said, idly making loose feathers dive and swirl around the room with her wand, “I really do have an idea.”

“Well, let’s hear it then,” Sasha said. “We will anyway,” she added under her breath.

Ivan, ever the peacekeeper, said “What is it?” before Tilly could get offended.

“Well,” she said, “it seems that you’re right. We _are_ just kids, and that means that the adults don’t always take us seriously.”

Scorpius, stretched out on his stomach, chin pillowed on his folded arms, grumbled quietly, and Al stopped rubbing the knots out of his shoulders and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, once Scorpius had subsided again.

“We need to call in reinforcements. We need an adult that’s on _our_ side.”

“Like who?” Sasha asked.

“Well. My aunt, for one. She was friends with your dad, Scorp, back when they were students. She’s clever, and cunning, and she loves to meddle.” She paused, thinking. “Actually, her girlfriend might come, too. She was friends with your dad, Al.”

“Surely you don’t mean - “ Al started, but was cut off by Scorpius, who sat up suddenly, nearly toppling Al off the bed, to stare at Tilly. “You’re related to _Pansy_?”

Tilly smirked. “Are you surprised?”

Scorpius turned to Al, relieved to see his horror mirrored in Al’s green eyes. “No,” they both said emphatically. Sasha giggled.

“Actually”, Tilly said, ignoring them, “your mums might be helpful too.”

Scorpius considered this, then looked at Al, who nodded. “Yeah, it’s true. They might even agree to it.”

Ivan, who’d been watching quietly as usual, spoke up then. “What about Luna?”

“Luna Lovegood?” Tilly asked.

“Do you think she’d come?” Scorpius added.

Ivan nodded. “She’d come. She’s my godmother, you know.”

“Well,” Al said slowly, “she’d certainly provide a unique perspective.”

Scorpius snorted and shoved him.

“She could help us with this too,” Al said, tapping the book on magical plant breeding they’d abandoned in frustration earlier, after their unproductive visit with Neville.

Scorpius nodded. “That’s true. Pansy and Hermione might be helpful with that too.”

“But…” Sasha frowned. “How do we get them here?”

They stared at one another, pondering. A knock on their doorframe interrupted the heavy silence a moment later.

“Enter!” Al called.

Teddy ducked under the beaded curtain, looking not the least surprised to find the five of them inside, as usual - though, Scorpius thought grumpily, if he’d checked a few hours earlier, he’d have found them in the greenhouse. Obscenely early on a Saturday morning. So if he was going to tell them to go outside _again_ …

“Albus? Scorpius? I’m going to have to ask you to come with me,” Teddy said, face stern and serious. Ivan squeaked.

“What did we do?” Scorpius asked, grumpiness replaced with worry.

Teddy rolled his eyes and a shadow of his usual grin escaped. “I’m meeting with Neville and Minerva in a few minutes, about your fathers, and I thought you might like to join us.” He turned to look at the others, stern expression back in place. “Actually, you may as well all come. There’s also the small matter of your ‘slumber parties.’”

They all gulped. “Yes, Professor,” Sasha said, biting her lip. Only Tilly didn’t seem particularly concerned as they made their silent way through the castle to the Headmaster’s office.

Al’s fidgeting got more pronounced as they went, and he’d graduated to alternately twirling his wand and scrunching and unscrunching his sleeve by the time they got to the spiral staircase.

Scorpius, fearing Al would accidentally hex one of them, or, barring that, simply rumple the fabric of his robe in his sweaty palms so much that even the house-elves wouldn’t be able to restore it, slipped his hand quietly into Al’s. As expected, Al froze, which, though slightly awkward, at least stopped the fidgeting. After a few turns of the stair, during which Scorpius applied firm, even pressure to Al’s hand, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the link, he felt Al relax. Scorpius didn’t drop his hand.

Teddy turned to them with a piercing look and opened his mouth, but the stair deposited them at the Headmaster’s door before he could say anything, and they were all distracted by the distinctive sounds of a heated argument taking place behind the door.

Teddy rolled his eyes as he reached for the knocker. “I swear,” he muttered, “they are such _children_! I leave them alone for five bloody minutes…”

The door swung open, cutting off his words, and they all stared at the spectacle of Professor McGonagall shouting at Headmaster Longbottom - Scorpius couldn’t think of him as Neville, not in his office - and attempting to hit him over the head with what looked like a scone.

Scorpius tried valiantly to suppress his giggles, but he didn’t quite manage it.

McGonagall and the Headmaster turned to them, then, straightening their robes, brushing off crumbs, and otherwise pretending that they hadn’t been about to have a food fight.

Behind them, the portrait of the late Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was cackling gleefully, and the portrait of the late Potions Professor Severus Snape was rolling his eyes.

“Ah,” Headmaster Longbottom said, brushing off the last of the crumbs and sitting down behind his desk. “Children. So good of you to join us. Have a seat please. Would you care for a scone? They’re fresh - Madam Puddifoot sent them over this morning.”

Scorpius sat, dragging Al down into the seat next to him. Portrait Dumbledore grinned widely at him, looking pointedly at their joined hands, eyes twinkling merrily.

Teddy, Tilly, Ivan, and Sasha all sat too, as did Professor McGonagall, still looking a tad ruffled as she poured herself a cup of tea.

“Now,” Headmaster Longbottom said, once they all had a scone and cup of steaming tea, “what’s this I hear about slumber parties?”

Scorpius sank lower in his chair, as did the others - all but Tilly, of course. “How did you - “ she began, but the Headmaster interrupted her.

“We do have some protections put in place, you know, to keep students out of one another’s dormitories - and out of trouble.”

Al gulped. The Headmaster’s stern mask cracked and fell away, to be replaced with a broad smile. “However,” he continued, “Teddy has assured me that your intentions are good, and, as he can monitor you, and ultimately has responsibility for you while you are in his House, I will leave the matter up to him to sort out.”

Teddy smiled. “You’re not hurting anyone. Although, I’m surprised no one has noticed you missing from your dormitory, Miss Davison - or you, Miss Leatherwood, as you’re not even a Hufflepuff.”

“She’s a Hufflepuff at heart,” they all said in unison. Headmaster Longbottom collapsed, chuckling, against the back of his chair; Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes and smiled.

“I will allow it, then, so long as you continue to behave and it does not interfere with your schoolwork,” the Headmaster said, shoulders still shaking. “Far be it from me to separate best friends.” He rubbed his hands together then, snagging another scone from the serving platter in the center of the table. “So. About the real purpose of this meeting.”

Teddy sighed. McGonagall did too. “We need a plan,” Teddy said. “Our current approach isn’t working.”

“What we need,” McGonagall said acerbically, is a miracle. She brightened. “Or, we could do what I’ve suggested all along - lock them in a broom cupboard until they stop being idiots.”

They all grinned at that mental image.

Tilly spoke up then. “I have a plan.”

“Oh, well then, Miss Leatherwood,” the Headmaster said, polishing off another scone, “do tell. I’m all ears, as it were.”

Scorpius listened intently as Tilly relayed their earlier discussion about bringing in reinforcements, waiting for the moment the adults scoffed and told them to leave these matters to them.

Instead, Headmaster Longbottom grinned in delight, setting his scone down on his plate. “Oh, I like that. That’s quite clever.”

“We’d need an excuse to bring them in, though,” Teddy cautioned.

“What about art?” Ivan asked suddenly. “We’ve all been studying it, in our spare time, but there’s not any classes offered here in it.”

The adults stared at him.

“Oh,” Headmaster Longbottom said, clapping his hands, “that’s wonderful. Hmm. Advanced Muggle Studies… Muggle Art Studies… Oh, I like this! But, why them in particular?”

“Well,” Sasha said, “Scorpius’ mum is a designer and photographer.”

“And my mum’s her model,” Al added. “And she draws some.” He glanced at Scorpius. “Plus, they’re already interested in getting our dads together.”

“Pansy and Hermione dance,” Tilly added.

Teddy looked at her oddly. “How do you know that?”

She waved her hand airily. “Pansy’s my aunt. She used to babysit me when I was little. Mum says I take after her side of the family.”

“Of course,” McGonagall rolled her eyes. “That explains rather a lot. And Luna?”

“She dabbles in most arts,” Scorpius said. “She’s writing a book right now, about her latest expeditions.”

“And she’s my godmother,” said Ivan.

“Do you really think they’d come?” asked McGonagall, skeptical.

They looked at one another. “They will if we ask,” Al said decisively.

Headmaster Longbottom rubbed his hands together. “Well, then. I think we have a plan.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	35. Wrackspurts

_Thursday, November 16, 2017_

Harry was sitting in his rooms, brooding, as usual, when he was startled by several sharp raps on his door. He looked up, intending to tell whoever it was to go away, but froze when a rainbow burst into his room.

That the only way he could think of describe the vision that Luna made, breezing through his (locked) door, dressed in layers of multi-hued gauzy fabric with trailing sleeves and a full skirt, hiked up to reveal bare feet and surprisingly knobby knees. Trailing vines and vibrant flowers twined across the canvas of her skin, the magical tattoos moving constantly as if blowing in the wind. Her hair floated around her, weighted down by bits of shell and feathers, and dozens of silver bangles encircled her thin wrists, accentuating their frailty. She was almost etherial, and her smile shone like the sun.

Harry tore his eyes from her eclectic beauty and turned to frown at the door, sure that he’d locked it.

“Oh, yes,” she said, voice light and musical, “it was locked.”

“Er. How did you get in?” Harry kicked himself for sounding so unwelcome, but he’d grown used to his dreary solitude, and Luna was anything but.

She arched one delicate eyebrow, her eyes - an impossible shade midway between silver and blue - sparkling. “Why, I opened it, of course.”

Harry stared at her, at a loss for words. Eventually he gathered enough wits to say, faintly, “Luna… what is it you do, exactly?” He was starting to suspect that the answer would be that she couldn’t tell him - that she worked for the department of Mysteries. If anyone could understand Luna, he supposed they could.

Luna’s laughter, airy and tinkling, echoed through the small room. “Oh, Harry. I look for rare and magical creatures. They are very good at hiding, you know. They have to be, or they would have been found long ago.”

Harry didn’t know where to start. Luckily, with Luna, that wasn’t a problem. She could carry on her bizarre conversation perfectly well on her own.

“Take Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, for example,” she said earnestly, taking a seat on the scrounged side table; Harry winced at the ominous creak, but relaxed when it seemed perfectly content to be used as a chair. “Took me _years_ to figure out what sort of riddles they use to hide their colonies, then another few to work out how to answer them.”

Harry couldn’t tell if she was serious or not, and decided that the safest bet would be to take her words at face value. He resumed his seat by the fire, turning so he was facing her.

“And you, er, found them, did you?”

Luna beamed. “Oh, yes! Well, they’d already moved on by then, of course. But the signs were there. Next time, I’ll have them for sure.”

“Er,” said Harry.

“You’ve a worse case of Wrackspurts than Draco, Harry! Goodness.” Luna peered anxiously up at him, batting at the air by his face.

Harry scowled, and he could feel his features hardening. “If that’s what you’re here for, Luna, you may as well give up now.”

“Oh, Harry…” Luna shook her head. “The Wrackspurts are worse than I thought. They’re really clouding your vision. Here.” She whipped her wand out from behind her ear and shot a quick succession of spells at his face.

Harry blinked.

“There.” She nodded, apparently satisfied, and stowed her wand. “That’s a start, anyway.”

“Er… Luna,” Harry said, feeling distinctly wrong-footed, “What did you just do?”

“Oh, I just removed some of the spell residue from your lenses. You really ought to get those lenses cleaned more often, you know.”

Harry took them off, blinked nearsightedly at them. “Er. Thanks.” They did look a bit clearer. Maybe. The sparkles her spell had left around the edges of his vision made it hard to tell.

“I put a few Nargle and Wrackspurt repelling wards on them too.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”

“You’re welcome!” she said brightly. “Anyway, I’ve got to meet Nev for lunch, but you should really come and visit us sometime Harry.”

“Us?”

She grinned. “Oh, yes. Ginny, Astoria, Pansy, and Hermione are all here. And me, of course. Didn’t they tell you?”

“No?” Harry felt rather put-out.

“Hmm. Well, you _have_ been rather difficult to find. We’re staying in Hogsmeade.”

“At the Three Broomsticks?”

“Goodness, no. Whatever would give you that idea?”

Harry tried to think of where else they might stay, not sure he entirely believed that they were there at all.

“No, silly,” she said, when it became clear that Harry wasn’t going to offer anything else. “We’ve rented a house.”

“Er. How long are you staying?”

“Oh, Nev invited us for the rest of the school year. He’s implementing a new muggle art studies class, you see, and needed teachers and advisors for the trial run. We were all free - mostly - and we all have experience with muggle arts. It’s quite brilliant, really.

“I see,” Harry said weakly.

Luna beamed at him. “Oh, and Harry?” she said, standing up and smoothing her diaphanous skirts, “You might use a stronger keyword on your door. That one was rather obvious.”

She sent him a pitying glance and then breezed out of his room, leaving him feeling disoriented and a bit lost.

* * *

_Friday, November 17_

Harry strode across the Hogwarts grounds, hands stuffed into his pockets, chin tucked into his flannel scarf. It was cold, now. The overcast sky was a leaden gray, and it reflected dully in the inky water. There was no sign of the giant squid today; the surface of the lake was smooth, placid. He’d thought that, if he could just sit beside it for a bit, he could train his mind to mimic the lake, soak up some of that icy tranquility. He was almost to the water’s edge when he heard the shout behind him.

“Harry!”

He sighed, hunching his shoulders as he turned back toward the castle.

“Hi, Gin,” he said weakly. He’d been _trying_ to sneak out for a quick sulk during lunch, but of course Ginny had known just where to find him. She knew his habits far too well - he supposed she’d have to, after nearly two decades - but he’d always found it a bit disconcerting. He should, he supposed, find it more worrisome, now that they weren’t together, but he couldn’t really see her using the knowledge against him. Then he remembered that, of all her brothers, she resembled the twins most of all… and that she was, according to Luna, currently shacked up with Astoria Greengrass, notorious prankster in her own right, who had spent the past two decades married to Draco Malfoy. Suddenly, he found himself wondering how much he’d have to change his habits if he wanted to avoid her.

“Hullo, Harry,” she said, far too cheerfully for such a dreary November day. A stray gust of wind, seemingly wishing to prove him right, chose that moment to fling her hair into his face. “Oh, dear,” Ginny said, as he pried the fragrant strands from his mouth.

At one time, the scent of Ginny’s shampoo had driven him wild. At least, he thought it had. Whatever he had once felt, now it only made him tired. He felt his shoulders sagging as the weight of the past several years all seemed to hit him at once.

Ginny, on the other hand, looked young and carefree. Divorce agreed with her, he thought, or maybe it was just being free of him, or the vigor brought on by the thrill of a new relationship. He envied her that, and the sudden stab of jealousy in his gut threatened to drive him to his knees. Something must have shown in his face, for her smile turned worried. “Harry? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He knew he was being curt, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Ginny seemed to understand, though, or at least chose not to comment on it.

“All right. Well, I have to go - I have a meeting with Nev and the others in a few minutes.” She hesitated. “You know, Harry, you’re welcome to come and have dinner with us sometime.”

He frowned. “Won’t you be eating in the Great Hall?”

She snorted, shoving his shoulder playfully. “As if. I’m not _that_ keen to relive my youth, thanks very much. We - the girls and I - we’re staying in Hogsmeade. Luna said she told you…”

Harry blushed, chagrined. “I, uh, may not have believed her, quite.”

Ginny laughed. “I suppose it must have seemed rather far-fetched. But surely Al told you? He and his friends helped us move in. They’ve been by several times, now.”

Harry looked down, dragging the toe of his shoe through the fallen leaves. “I…I guess I haven’t seen much of Al, lately.”

Ginny huffed, exasperated, and put her hands on her hips, startling Harry with her uncanny resemblance to her mother. “You’re telling me that you _haven’t seen much of_ your son - your son who goes to the same school you teach at? Who has you for a teacher several days a week? Harry…” She rolled her eyes. “I know these last few months have been rough for you, Harry, but you’re going to have to learn to live again sometime.”

He scowled. “I know how to live.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder for a moment in an awkward half-hug. “Well, Harry,” she said gently, “maybe it’s time you started, then.” She smiled sadly at him. “I really do have to go, now, but… please, Harry. We really would love to see you.” She turned away, looking smaller, somehow, than when she’d first called out to him. After a few steps, she turned back, the fire returning to her eyes. “And for Merlin’s sake, spend some time with your son!”

She strode back toward the castle, hair streaming out behind her like a flaming banner, leaving Harry to stand alone, and just a bit sad, at the edge of the lake. He stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets against the chill, watching the dead leaves swirl along the shore in the fickle breeze, until it was time for him to go back, attempt to plaster a smile on his face, and instruct a bunch of restless teenagers in a subject that had once been life and death for him, and was now reduced to dry words on the pages of history.

 


	36. Please?

_Saturday, November 18, 2017_

“Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy!”

Draco winced. Attempting to dredge up a smile, he turned. “Tori.”

“Don’t think nicknames will work on me just now, Draco. Have you seen our son lately?”

“Er, Scorpius? Why? What’s he done?” Draco frowned. It wasn’t like Scorpius to get in trouble, and he’d seemed quite happy the last time he’d -

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Yes, Scorpius. Do we have any _other_ sons, Draco? And he’s not _done_ anything - he just said he hasn’t really seen you in weeks. Is that true?”

“Of course it’s not true! I just saw him…” Draco frowned. When _had_ he last seen Scorpius?

Astoria rolled her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” Her expression turned sympathetic as she studied him. “Draco? Darling? What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, really.”

She grabbed his arm, tugging him down the corridor to a small alcove he hadn’t known existed. She hopped up on the wide window ledge, patting the stones beside her. “Have a seat. Come on; I don’t bite.”

He sighed. He knew that tone of voice. If he didn’t do as she said, there’d be hell to pay later. Honestly. She was worse than Pansy’d ever been. “Oh, all right,” he said, hopping up beside her. She scooted over a bit to make room for him, then tugged his head down to her shoulder.

He let her, groaning softly as her fingers loosened the tie that held his hair back and then began carding gently through the strands. He’d always loved it when she did that, and hated how it made him putty in her hands - just as it had when Pansy’d done it.

“What happened, Draco?” she asked, and he heard only genuine concern in her voice. “Scorpius said you’ve been distant, ever since the duel.” She paused. “He didn’t recognize that spell you know. But I do. Why did you let him do that to you?”

Draco sighed, lifting his shoulders in a weary shrug. “Don’t you think that if I knew that, I’d have been able to prevent it? It’s _Potter_ , Tori. Have I ever needed any more reason than that? It’s _always_ been Potter.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a bit, and Draco allowed the rhythmic strokes of her fingers to sooth him, lull him into a half-doze.

“Why did you pull away?” she asked suddenly, startling him. “I thought - “

“Yeah, well, so did I,” he said bitterly. “I guess he wasn’t all that sincere.” He paused, feeling guilty. “Well, no, I suppose that’s not exactly true.”

She turned abruptly, dislodging his head from her shoulder, so she could look into his eyes. “Draco. What did you do? Did he _really_ reject you, or did you make assumptions, as usual, and get all huffy over a misunderstanding?”

Draco scowled. “I do _not_ ‘get all huffy.’” He felt his lower lip jut out, and was quite unable to prevent it.

Astoria giggled. “Yes you do, darling. I was married to you for nearly two decades, remember? Now, are you going to tell me what happened? Or am I going to have to drag you out of here by your ear and ask him myself?”

He sat bolt upright, staring at her. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would.”

She would. The woman would be the death of him. “I may have made _a few_ assumptions, Tori,” he said stiffly, “but I assure you they were all quite reasonable.”

She snorted. “Of course they were. Now. What happened?”

Draco buried his face in her shoulder, hiding from her too-direct gaze. “I - I may have told him about the memories I took from him. About what we were to one another.” He felt her shoulder tense beneath his cheek. He’d never even told her about that. Even when, with their duty to their families satisfied, they’d become friends, it had been something he’d kept for himself. His closely guarded secret that he’d take to his grave. He snorted. And look how well _that_ had turned out.

“We were in the hospital wing, and I was under the influence of some pretty gnarly pain potions, after he cut me open and then he and Pomfrey stitched me up again, and his back was turned but… but he was far too tense to be anything but awake.” His voice got steadily quieter, until he was practically whispering and she had to lean closer to hear. “He didn’t respond, and I fell asleep before I’d finished talking, I think - things got a little fuzzy - and when I woke up he was gone.”

“What did he say?” she asked softly.

He frowned. “When?”

“Why, the next time you spoke.” She pulled away again, trying to catch his eyes. “Darling, you _did_ speak to him, after that?”

He avoided her gaze, shrugging helplessly. Of course he hadn’t spoken to him after that. Anyway, it’s not like they’d really seen one another. “He’s been avoiding me,” he said miserably, and he knew how childish he sounded.

Astoria sighed. “Oh, Draco.” She patted his head comfortingly, and he leaned into the touch, drawing what comfort he could from it. It was times like these that he missed his mother the most.

* * *

After a while, Astoria pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Draco. Lets go for a walk. It’s a lovely day outside.”

“Tori - “

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Draco. Now. We’re going for a nice long walk. In fact, we’re going to walk to Hogsmeade, and I’m going to show you around the house. It’s quite lovely, and the girls and I get on fabulously.”

“But I - “

“And then,” she said, talking blithely over him, “you’re going to help me make dinner, and we’re going to have a pleasant evening. Scorpius and his friends are coming, too. It’ll be fun - you’ll see.”

It did sound better than another boring dinner in the Great Hall, and a day spent brooding in his rooms. Only… “Scorpius _and_ his friends.”

“Yes,” Astoria said, twisting the empty spot on her finger where her wedding band had once lain.

Draco scowled. That meant Al would be there - not that Scorpius ever went anywhere _without_ Al, these days - which meant… “What about Potter?”

Astoria evaded his gaze. “What about him?”

“Is Potter coming to your little shindig, too?”

“I - maybe.” She sighed. “Ginny’s asking him.”

Draco snorted. “Telling him, you mean. I don’t think I can - “

Astoria glared at him. “You can, Draco, and you will. You don’t have to speak to him - don’t even have to look at him - but your son is feeling neglected and wants you to come.” She softened her tone. “ _I_ want you to come. Believe it or not, darling, I miss your company. I got rather used to it, I’m afraid. I love the girls to death, but…”

Draco groaned. “Please don’t ask me that, Tori!”

“Please, Draco.”

He closed his eyes. He’d never been able to deny her. Not when she wanted something as badly as she did now. “Fine. Just - let me grab my cloak.”

She brightened, falling into step beside him. “Ooh, you can show me your rooms, while we’re at it. I’ve always wondered what the professors’ rooms were like, here.”

He smiled as she slipped her tiny hand into his. “It’s just a room, Tori. Nothing special. Honestly, I almost prefer the dorms.”

He led her back to his rooms anyway, letting her familiar chatter wash over him, easing some of the ache of loneliness of the past few weeks. Maybe she was right. Maybe it _would_ be OK, after all.

 

 


	37. Wallflower

_Saturday, November 18, 2017_

It was most definitely _not_ OK.

Oh, it had been fine, until now. The walk had been pleasant enough, and Astoria had traded stories with him - about ridiculous clients and models and equally ridiculous students - and he’d discovered, to his surprise, that he’d actually enjoyed it. The house was indeed lovely, and he could find no fault with the workmanship or condition of the building or the furnishings. It resembled a gallery, more than a house, and his misgivings about this “muggle arts” class were put to rest. Between the five of them, the girls actually seemed to have a solid background in the arts, and Neville’s idea no longer seemed quite so ridiculous. Even he could admit that his own Hogwarts education had been _sorely_ lacking in instruction in the arts.

Even Astoria’s new flatmates had impressed him.

No, the walk was fine, the house was fine, the girls were fine - he found them surprisingly pleasant company, and had thoroughly enjoyed making dinner with them. But this party - this was absolutely _not_ fine.

Draco glared across the room at Astoria, chatting with _Harry_ , the traitor. He hoped she wasn’t telling him anything incriminating. He would prefer, of course, that she not tell him anything at all - but his preferences were clearly not going to be taken into account.

He shifted against the mantel, trying to find a spot that _didn’t_ have knobs that dug into his shoulder blades. He wasn’t comfortable, particularly, but he certainly wasn’t going to actually go and join the rest of the party. Harry - more animated than Draco had seen him since the duel, not that he’d seen much of him - seemed to be telling some story that had his audience captivated. Draco snorted. Then Astoria laughed, touching Harry’s arm and somehow managing to draw a smile from him.

Draco growled and raised his teacup to his lips, sipping angrily. The hot liquid inside scalded his tongue, and he welcomed the distraction. Astoria glanced at him, and he quickly looked away, avoiding her gaze by turning and pretending to admire the series of photographs propped on the mantel. They were quite good, and with the infernal party no longer assaulting his eyes, he let himself sink into a contemplative half-trance as he studied them, reflecting on the pleasant - albeit strange- day.

Astoria was happier with Ginny. She was lighter, laughed more. She’d always been too cheerful and carefree to be shackled to him, his sullied reputation, and the hulking Manor. Draco hated their parents, sometimes, for doing that to her. She deserved more, and he was glad she was finally getting it. Even if it _was_ with Ginny Potter nee Weasley.

Though, if he was honest, Ginny wasn’t all that bad. He wondered how such a mischievous firecracker of a woman had survived nearly twenty years of marriage to gloomy, needy, damaged Harry Potter. Not that he was much better, but he was at least better at hiding it.

He found, as the afternoon wore on, that he genuinely _liked_ Ginny. She was impossible not to like, really, and he could see why Astoria was so taken with her. They were the perfect match.

Draco resolved to have the locks changed on the Manor at the first opportunity, and stronger wards put up, lest they be tempted to leave him a house full of pranks and booby traps.

It was good to re-connect with Pansy - he’d missed her terribly, after the war, but hadn’t wanted to saddle her with his gloomy presence or taint her burgeoning law practice with the Death Eater stigma that haunted him, and that she’d just barely escaped. Of course, Granger would most likely have been insurance enough against that.

Granger.

Of all of them, she was the one he’d been most hesitant about. But, either he’d _sorely_ misjudged her, during their years at Hogwarts (entirely possible, given the company she’d kept), or else Pansy had effected an astonishing transformation.

Either way, Draco found that he _liked_ this Granger. She was still brilliant, of course, but her keen intelligence was edged with a cutting sarcastic wit, dangerously cunning cleverness, and a truly wicked sense of humor. _This_ Granger would have done well in Slytherin. Hell, this Granger would have _ruled_ Slytherin. He had never been more grateful that she'd been placed in Gryffindor.

He’d thought Pansy had gone insane when she’d first told him she’d taken up with Granger. Now, he wondered if she’d got in over her head. But she seemed happy - happier than he’d ever known her to be, when still under her parents’ shadow - and so he was content to let her work it out. But he made a mental note to _never_ get on either of their bad sides.

And Luna -

Draco smiled inadvertently as she appeared, as if summoned by his thoughts to join him on the sidelines.

Luna was, well, _Luna_.

“Hullo, Draco!” she said cheerfully, bouncing over to lean against the mantle with him.

Draco snorted. “Are you _quite_ sure you aren’t a legilimens, Luna?”

“Well, no. I mean, I don’t think I am, but I suppose I wouldn’t rule out the possibility. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.” He couldn’t suppress the smirk. “Only I thought of you and, well,” he gestured with his cup, “here you are.”

“Oh.” She frowned, blowing an errant lock of hair out of her eyes. “That’s not actually Legilimency, Draco.”

“I know. I was just…making a joke? Or something. Clearly I shouldn’t attempt it. What have you been up to?”

“You mean while you and Harry have been studiously ignoring each other?” Her silvery eyes were sharp, suddenly, and he shifted uncomfortably, knowing she wasn’t far from the truth.

“I wasn’t…” he started weakly, then gave it up as useless. It was Luna - she seemed to have a sixth sense about these things.

She studied him for a moment, eyes uncharacteristically hooded, then nodded, apparently coming to a decision. “Come with me,” she said abruptly, hooking her arm through his and dragging him out of the room, “I have something to show you.”

“Er, Luna, you do know I bat for the other team, don’t you?”

She giggled, and the air between them lightened. “Oh, Draco. Not _that_.” She tugged him through a door and into the library. It was his favorite room in their house, actually, lined with bookshelves - which, knowing Hermione and Pansy, and probably the others too, was probably a large part of why they’d chosen to rent this particular house - and furnished with overstuffed leather armchairs, cozy window seats, and a pair of perfectly-sized writing desks, situated to best take advantage of the light filtering in through the large windows. He could happily spend the rest of his life in this room, and he thought the girls probably could too. He resolved to spend as much of his free time there as possible, for as long as they kept the house.

Luna tugged him over to one of the chairs, depositing him into it rather as if he were a piece of furniture himself. He grinned at her “Oh, just shove me around, why don’t you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stay there - I’ll just grab it. I know you - you’ll be off chasing ideas like rabbits, else. Honestly. I don’t know how any of you ever got anything done in school.”

Shrugging, because he didn’t really know either, Draco let himself sink back into the chair, drinking in the steady peace and comfort this room offered. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the faint smells of leather and parchment, ink and binding glue. Soon enough, Luna dropped a book into his lap, perching on the arm of his chair.

He raised his eyebrow, glancing pointedly at all the empty chairs, but she ignored him.

“Here,” she said, flipping through the book until she reached whatever she wanted to show him, apparently. He glanced down at the fingernail she was tapping against the page - dusted with pink glitter that was definitely familiar.

“I see Astoria attacked you with her nail polish?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” She held her fingers up to the reading light, admiring the way the glitter sparkled. “I rather like it. Now, look.” She tapped the book again.

Draco looked. “Romeo and Juliet?” he asked, puzzled. “I’ve read it. Shakespeare’s a classic here too, you know, even though it wasn’t taught at Hogwarts, Father ‘spared no expense’ on my education.” He quirked his long, pale fingers into air quotes, a muggle habit he and Astoria had picked up from Scorpius and he’d never been able to drop. There was something so deliciously plebian about it; he imagined Father scowling down his aristocratic nose at such a gesture, and Mother rolling her expressive eyes.

Luna rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes; I wasn’t disparaging your education, Draco. And, incidentally, this _will_ be taught at Hogwarts, now.”

He looked up at her, surprised. “This is what you’re teaching in your muggle art class?”

She nodded. “Muggle Art Appreciation” - that’s what we decided.

Draco raised one eyebrow. “Who came up with that?”

Luna grinned. “Tilly, actually. She has a lot of good ideas.”

“And a lot of bad ones,” Draco said, groaning. “That girl is a _menace_.”

Luna giggled. “Well, she _is_ Pansy’s niece, you know.”

Draco stared. “ _No!_ ” It made perfect sense - and he could see it, now. The resemblance.

Luna nodded. “Pansy’s little sister’s girl. Pansy and Hermione used to babysit her a lot, and the girl looks up to them.”

Draco collapsed back against the chair, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. “ _Merlin_. I don’t think I could come up with worse role models for a child like Tilly.” He groaned. “And she’s one of my son’s best friends. Fabulous.”

Luna patted his knee. “Don’t worry - Al will keep Scorpius grounded. Who knows. maybe they’ll be a good influence on the girl. Anyway. We’ve got rather off track.”

“Oh, right. So, you’re going to put on the play?”

“Yes. We were just going to have the one class, but when Neville brought us the sign-up list…”

She trailed off, and Draco looked up, wondering at her expression, caught halfway between delight and consternation. “What?”

She lowered her voice to a near-whisper, so he had to lean in to hear. “ _Everybody_ signed up.”

“When you say everybody…”

“I mean _everybody._ Every single student in Hogwarts - well, with the exception of James and his cronies. Even a few _professors._ ”

“Wow. What are you going to do? Wait - aren’t those sign-up sheets charmed to only allow a certain number of signatures?”

Luna nodded. “ _Someone_ came up with a very clever workaround.”

“You don’t mean - “

Luna snorted. “We don’t know if she did it all herself, or if Scorpius and the others helped, but… it’s clever enough we can’t just take the first thirty or so names. No, I’m afraid we’re stuck teaching them all.”

“But how on earth - “

“We added enough sections for everyone. It works out, actually. Some people will be performing, obviously, and others will be directing, doing lighting, props, music, costumes… The only trouble is that there’s only the five of us.”

“And you want me to…”

“Well, mostly to help out here in the evenings, getting the logistics worked out. Astoria assured us that you would be best for that.”

“But -“

She talked blithely over him. “It’s not just you, of course - we’ve had to enlist the help of just about everyone in the castle. It’s going to be so much fun!”

She clapped her hands, eyes shining, and Draco didn’t have the heart to say no. He just knew, though, that he was going to regret it.


	38. Distraction

_Saturday, November 18, 2017_

Harry was surprised to find, after being browbeaten by Ginny - as usual - into attending the party, that he was enjoying himself immensely.

Hermione was as intimidatingly clever as he remembered, but he no longer felt that he had to pretend to understand all her obscure and far-ranging references. He doubted anyone could, really, except maybe Pansy.

He’d always assumed, back in school, that there was nothing more to the still-terrifying girl than razor-sharp claws and a vapid existence spent fawning over Draco. In reality, she was nearly as clever as Hermione, and the two together were a force to be reckoned with - one he never wanted to get on the wrong side of an argument with. He’d gotten to know Pansy in a professional capacity during the divorce, and had quickly come to appreciate her uncanny ability to sink those ebony, perfectly manicured - if a bit sharp - nails into the heart of a matter, and her ruthless competence. She reminded him of a shark - sleek, sharp, deadly, and compelling.

He’d never bothered to get to know her personally until now, and regretted the divisions their school years had forced on them. He’d been far too quick to judge back then, he decided, and wondered what his life would have been like had he allowed the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin, or had the war that was brewing then not ripped them all apart.

Ginny had handed him off to Astoria as soon as she’d got him in the door, and Harry immediately saw what appealed to her about the winsome blonde with a wicked gleam in her eyes. She had that same fire and spark that had always attracted Harry to Ginny, and his heart ached at how _right_ they looked together.

Astoria soon had him dredging up ridiculous stories from the past - and how she managed to do _that_ without making him maudlin, Harry had no idea. He’d suspect magic, if he didn’t know it were impossible.

He caught Hermione’s speculative gaze, then, and wondered. But then Astoria cracked a joke - one the twins would have loved - and Harry’s surprised and delighted laughter drew the kids into their circle, and Harry forgot to be suspicious.

He looked up, then, and saw Draco hastily turning away. It hurt. He’d hoped they could still be friends, but…

No. He shook his head, tearing his gaze from the lean, slightly bowed back across the room, that deliciously tempting silver-blonde hair, tied neatly back in a way that made his fingers itch to undo the leather thong holding it in place, and muss up the no-doubt silky strands. It was better this way. He only ever hurt people.

Harry tried to focus on Astoria’s convoluted tale of a photo shoot gone wrong, but he quickly lost the thread of the conversation, dropping it without noticing as his eyes were drawn inexorably back to Draco. Luna had approached him, as he stood disdainfully separate, back turned to the rest of them. Harry stood, rooted to the floor, resisting the almost painful pull that insisted he go and rescue Draco. It was _Luna_. He could hardly excuse “rescuing” the man from Luna! But she was standing too close - far too close, invading Draco’s personal space - and her expressive hands were dancing through the air between them as she talked, fluttering like exotic hummingbirds, never pausing in their movements, and every so often she touched him - his arm, his shoulder - and Harry felt his fists clenching.

She’d drawn a _laugh_ from him, and was now leading him from the room, a possessive hand on his elbow. Harry’s heart gave a nauseating lurch.

 _He’s gay_ , he reminded himself. _And Luna - well, who knows what Luna is?_ He thought he remembered her dating both girls and boys indiscriminately - if rarely - back in school. That didn’t make him feel any better.

He hastily excused himself, leaving the others looking somewhat startled and cutting Astoria off mid-word.

He didn’t see the discreet thumbs-up Astoria sent Hermione as he strode across the room toward the door Draco and Luna had just disappeared through, nor did he see Tilly’s triumphant grin. He had only one thing on his mind - Draco. The word ran through his mind like a drumbeat, a heartbeat. _Draco…Draco…Draco…_

His heart lurched again when he found them, by the simple expedient of listening at every door he passed until he heard the soft murmur of voices. He eased the door open, just enough to be able to see in. Soft light spilled out into the hall, and he grabbed the door-frame for support.

They looked so… content, sitting there by the fire. Draco, relaxed and animated, leaning back in an overstuffed chair, and Luna, sweet and giggly and _sparkling_ as she perched comfortably on the arm of the chair, gauzy sleeves trailing and bare feet on display. She touched his shoulder, leaning in to whisper something, and Harry stumbled. He slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the curse that slipped out, but it was too late. Draco looked up, right into his eyes, and his expression hardened. The light faded from his eyes, as if he’d drawn the shutters, and Harry’s stomach dropped.

Luna smiled brightly at him. “Harry! Come in! I was just telling Draco about the class we’re going to teach next term. We’re asking all the teachers to pitch in - we got rather more interest from the students than we expected, you see - and I was going to find you next. And now you’re here - isn’t that lovely? Now I don’t have to waste time looking for you.”

Harry was about to say that he had hardly been hiding - unlike some people - but Luna was too fast for him. She chattered on as he hesitantly moved closer, something about theatre and special effects and costuming and music and Shakespeare…and Harry let the words wash over him without sinking in. He was far too busy staring at Draco.

Something in his expression must have startled Draco, for his eyes widened, and then some of the fire returned. He wasn’t angry, exactly - Harry was well acquainted with what an angry Draco looked like, and this wasn’t it - nor was it any expression Harry could name.

Then Luna called his name, sounding fondly exasperated. “Harry! Harry Potter! Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” he said absently, eyes locked with Draco’s, then, yanking his attention back to her - a wasted effort, since it immediately swung back to Draco - “Yeah, I’m listening.”

“Good.” She launched back into her story, and he went back to staring at Draco, reserving only enough of his attention for Luna that when she wound down at last, with a “You will, won’t you, Harry?” that straddled the line between question and demand, he agreed without any idea of what it was he was agreeing to. Ginny would no doubt fill him in later.

He could be agreeing to just about anything - it was _Luna_ , after all, not to mention the other girls - but just couldn’t bring himself to care, not with Draco sitting there in front of him, a tempting mixture of poise and relaxation, invitation and rejection, soft and hard and oh, Harry _wanted_. The fire crackled and sparked, the air seemed to heat, and the space between them crackled with an energy he couldn’t put a name to. He was about to reach out - rejection be damned - but then Luna grabbed his arm and tugged him away, back to the party. Draco stayed in the chair, eyes burning, immobile. He didn’t break eye contact, and the image of those eyes stayed burned into Harry’s brain long after Luna had tugged him around the corner and he’d lost sight of them.


	39. Girls, Girls, Girls

_Saturday, November 18, 2017  
_

“Finally!” Ginny exclaimed, shutting the door firmly against the November chill and collapsing against it as she unwound her scarf. “I thought they’d never leave.” She let her drooping eyelids fall closed, relaxed her shoulders. As much as she loved parties, they took a decided toll on her. The walk back to Hogwarts with the children had been pleasant - the air was so crisp everything seemed to sparkle, like if you made any noise at all to disturb the stillness, the whole world would ring like a bell. She’d gotten a better picture of what had been going on with her ex-husband and his ex-nemesis. Al - and Scorpius, who stuck closer to her quiet son’s side than his own shadow did - were far more perceptive than their fathers. She’d been able to ask much more pointed questions, after observing them at the party, and felt that she had significant progress to report - just as soon as she found the energy to stand up.

Instead, her weary legs sagged under her, and she slid slowly toward the floor.

“Oh, no you don’t!” came a fondly annoyed voice. Ginny cracked one eye open to confirm that it was, in fact, Pansy who’d found her.

“Hullo, Pans,” she said, yawning. “Have you come to fetch me, then?”

Pansy snorted. “Actually, I was just on my way to collapse in the library with the others. Come on - you can’t stay there.”

“Why not?” Ginny stuck out her lower lip, in the pout that almost always made Astoria cave. Unfortunately, it had no effect at all on Pansy. “Bloody lawyers,” Ginny grumbled, as Pansy grabbed her wrists, heaving her to her feet.

“Yes, well. Come on, then. Your back will thank me in the morning.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out at her. Pansy was right, of course. She wasn’t as limber as she’d been when she was a teenager, even if the Harpies’ notoriously brutal practice regimen did keep her in excellent shape.

Pansy flung herself into “her” chair - indistinguishable from the others, in Ginny’s view, which she wisely kept to herself. Ginny looked up at Luna, Hermione, and Astoria, who’d just walked in, and felt her lips quirking up into a grin. Luna caved first, and soon they were all giggling.

Pansy rolled her eyes at them. “ _Merlin_. After _that_ , I need a glass of wine. No, two. But I’m too tired to get it.” She stared longingly at the sideboard across the room.

Astoria groaned as she dropped daintily into another chair. “Why did we decide against having a house-elf, again?”

Hermione, who had just curled up next to Pansy, straightened, indignant. “Because we don’t condone slavery or indentured- oh.”

Pansy giggled and swatted at her girlfriend. Astoria regarded her steadily for a moment, and then lazily removed one glittery gold high-heel and lobbed it at Hermione, missing her by several feet. The shoe bounced harmlessly off the arm of the chair by Pansy’s head.

“I meant to do that,” Astoria said loftily.

Pansy raised a brow. “ _Sure_ you did.”

Ginny groaned. “Forget wine. I could _really_ go for some chocolate right about now.” She kicked off her shoes and draped herself across the arm of Astoria’s chair, leaning her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder. She began unpinning Astoria’s hair, scattering the pins on the carpet below them and combing the honey-blonde curls with her fingers. Her own lion’s mane of fiery red had been tamed for the evening, too, and she set to work on her own hair once Astoria’s had been freed. The silky strands tumbled down, spilling over their shoulders and mixing with Astoria’s curls. Ginny admired them for a moment, glinting in the gentle glow from the candles - yellow and red, sunshine and flame. Astoria turned to look at her, and Ginny lost herself in the contemplation of those sparkling eyes, blue-gray, like the sea on a cloudy day, ringed with just a hint of green.

Luna shook her head, sending her long, rainbow-streaked hair swinging as she rose gracefully to her feet, abandoning her spot on the floor, where she’d been leaning comfortably against Astoria’s knee. “Honestly,” she murmured, “how do any of you manage to do anything?” She walked nimbly across the room, bare feet delicate and sure as a dancer’s.

“Where are you going?” Pansy asked sleepily, shifting slightly against Hermione’s body, curled against her like a cat’s. They each had a book resting by their heads, but neither seemed to be able to work up the energy to crack them open, much less read them.

Luna laughed. “To the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

* * *

_Sunday, November 19, 2017  
_

“So, I was thinking, w-“ Hermione stopped abruptly in the kitchen doorway, staring at the small, busy creature in the flowered apron who was working beside Astoria at the prep table. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, working silently. “I thought we said we weren’t getting a house-elf,” she said faintly, once she’d recovered her voice. Her expression hovered somewhere between disappointment and betrayal. Ginny moved unconsciously in front of Pansy, whose face had paled several shades, and whose hands clutched convulsively at her skirt.

“I -” Pansy started, but Luna’s firm voice cut across hers, drowning it out.

“Oh,” she said, glancing at Hermione sidelong and then returning her attention to her task. “I borrowed her from Hogwarts.”

Pansy found her voice, her color returning, though two points of red remained high on her cheeks. “Don’t make a fuss, darling. _You_ may be happy eating take-out every day, but the rest of us find it tiring. Anyway, we’re paying her.”

Hermione deflated. “We are?”

The house-elf nodded and said brightly, “Yes mistress! Cora is being paid very well, indeed! Cora is happy to continue serving the mistresses!’

Hermione took the plate Astoria handed her and frowned, picking up a delicate sandwich and chewing absently. “Hang on!” she exclaimed, eyes widening. “She said _continue_ serving, and this sandwich tastes awfully familiar.”

She glared at the crust in her hand, then leveled an accusing glare at Pansy. “Who told her I like cream-cheese, green olive, and pineapple sandwiches?”

Ginny looked over at Astoria, horrified, and mimed gagging. Astoria’s lips quirked as she valiantly fought a smile. Luna giggled.

“Come, now, darling,” Pansy said, turning her hand lazily, examining her flawless nails. The glossy ebony polish gleamed in the light that filtered through the gauzy curtains. “Surely you didn’t think I’ve been doing _all_ the cooking these past eighteen years.”

Hermione stared, comprehension dawning.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Pansy exclaimed. “I’ve paid her all along. _Twice_ the going rate, I’ll have you know. Only time I’ve had to argue someone’s price _up_ , she muttered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.”

Hermione snorted and wrapped her sweater-clad arms around Pansy’s shoulders, squeezing tighter when she stiffened. “It was a bit of a shock, is all,” she said, tugging Pansy closer to her. “I’m not actually upset about it. I _have_ been a bit oblivious, haven’t I?”

Pansy grinned, relaxing against her. “For the brightest witch of your age, you can be rather dim, sometimes, it’s true. And if you even _think_ about forcing some of that vile sandwich down my throat, I _will_ hex you.”

Hermione, whose eyes had taken on a decidedly devious glint, sighed dramatically. “Oh, all right.”

“Speaking of oblivious,” Ginny said, attempting to restore order as she munched on her own - much more normal - cucumber sandwich, “have we any idea what we’re going to do with our favorite oblivious idiots?”

“If we could just get Draco to tell Harry whatever he did…” Hermione trailed off, grimacing. _That_ was not something any of them cared to hinge their plans on.

Astoria sighed. “I _am_ trying. But he’s kept it a secret for so long, now - it’s almost like he’s afraid to say it.” She huffed out a frustrated breath, leaning into Ginny, who rubbed her shoulders affectionately.

“Well, of course he is,” Luna said suddenly, turning from the window, where she’d been hanging a series of crystals. The clouds parted for a moment, and a ray of sunlight lanced through them, scattering a swarm of dancing rainbows around the room. “He _has_ Harry, now, as a friend, of sorts. He’s afraid to tell him because he learned to keep secrets, during the war - living with Voldemort, he’d have had to - but also because there’s the chance that, if he tells Harry, he could lose that tentative friendship. You remember how they were, in school - always fighting to get one another’s attention. He probably reasons that having even the tiniest scrap of Harry’s attention is better than none of it at all.

“So… what do we do?” Pansy looked as lost as Ginny felt. Even though she’d known Draco longest, she didn’t seem confident that she actually knew him at all. Even Astoria had confided that she’d never broken through Draco’s walls.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Luna held up a small crystal, turning it so it caught and scattered the light. “We have to make sure they get - and keep - one another’s attention. We keep throwing them together, until Draco breaks. Until the possibility of something more outweighs the reluctance to lose what he has. Until he can’t stand to keep it in anymore.”

They stared at one another, wondering. “How the hell do we do that?” Hermione finally asked.

Luna picked up the battered copy of Romeo and Juliet that she’d been reading while she worked, patting its cover fondly. “For that, I think we’d better ask the Bard.”


	40. Historically Accurate

_Friday, November 24, 2017  
_

“What are we doing, again?” Sasha asked wearily, eying the stack of books Madam Pince had just dropped onto their desk. She waved ineffectually at the dust that puffed out, coughing. “I’m not even trying out!”

“Neither am I,” Ivan grumbled.

Sasha started. “Ivan? Where are you?”

The piles of books shifted, exposing Ivan’s sandy curls. He grimaced, snapping the book he’d been studying shut. “This one’s got nothing.” Scorpius slapped another on top of it without looking up, and Ivan heaved a frustrated sigh, obediently opening the cover.

Al frowned up at Sasha, eyes bright behind his lenses, lit with the thrill of the chase. “What are you doing, then, if not acting?”

“Special effects,” Sasha said promptly, “and music.”

“Really?” Al shoved his glasses up his nose, studying her. “I didn’t know you played an instrument.”

Her cheeks pinked. “I wasn’t going to bring it with me, but once Flitwick found out…” She sighed. “Mum’s bringing it to school this afternoon for me.”

“What do you play?”

“Oboe. It’s - I like it.” She looked down, picking nervously at her cuticles.

“That’s really cool!” Ivan enthused, and the others quickly joined in.

Sasha looked up, eyes sparkling. “Really?”

“Yeah! Will you play for us sometime?” Al asked. “Maybe while we’re painting?”

She hesitated. “Maybe. After I’ve practiced. I’ll be embarrassingly rusty, I’m sure. What are you doing, Ivan, if not acting?”

He looked up at her, a pained expression flitting across his mousy features. “Can you see me on stage? I have _terrible_ stage fright. I…” He looked down, lowering his voice to a barely-legible mutter. “Costumes.”

They all looked at him in surprise. He colored and shrugged. “Mum makes her own clothes. She taught me to sew when I was little.” He scowled, a little defensively. “Anyway, I like it. Fabric makes _sense_.”

Tilly snorted. “It’s good it does to someone - I’ve never been able to wrap my head around it. Like, how do you go from a pile of bits and bobs to a stunning - or even not-heinously-ugly outfit? I’m sure anything I made would fall apart within minutes, and people would be torn between being offended that it fell apart and grateful that they no longer had to look at it.”

Ivan shot her a grateful smile, and she winked at him. Scorpius peered up at them, blinking owlishly, marking his place with his finger. “What are you going to do, Tilly?”

She grinned. “Why, acting of course. I think I’ll try for the part of Mercutio.” She struck a dramatic pose. “Really, can you see me doing anything else _but_ hogging the limelight?”

They had to admit that they couldn’t.

“Here, look at this!” Ivan said suddenly. They all crowded around the dusty tome he was studying - a history of muggle theatre Pince had unearthed, after some prodding, and a judicious application of flattery - from a back room that looked as if it hadn’t been opened in at least a century.

“That looks like it hasn’t been read in a very long time,” said Sasha.

Ivan snorted. “Tell me about it. It’s not even printed - look.”

The crabbed, spidery script limped across the pages, brown ink faded and nearly invisible in several places, and dotted with smudges and stains that made it almost illegible.

Tilly wrinkled her nose. “Whoever wrote this just spelled ‘theatre’ five different ways.”

“But, look,” Ivan pointed to a passage further down the page.

He passed the book to Scorpius who, after squinting at it for a moment, began to read aloud: “Anne Marshall, the first woman to play in one of the Bard’s creations… when was it… 1660! Now when was Romeo and Juliet first performed, I just saw it… there. The 1590s, which means-”

Scorpius broke off to high-five Al. “That’s _exactly_ what we were looking for,” he said, grinning.

Sasha stared at them. “It is?”

Tilly clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles, comprehension dawning in her incredulous brown eyes. “You don’t mean to… oh, Merlin. You do, don’t you?” She doubled over helplessly. “Oh, this is fantastic!” she wheezed out.

Al and Scorpius grinned at her as Sasha supported her weight, keeping her from collapsing to the library floor.

“Oh, yes.” Al said, uncharacteristically animated, “Assuming all goes to plan, you’re looking at the future Romeo -“

“-And Juliet,” finished Scorpius.

They struck dramatic poses.

The others - and Madam Pince, who’d shuffled over with another armload of books, quite without their noticing - stared in shocked silence for a moment. Then Tilly’s giggles, which she’d been valiantly holding back, got the better of her, and they _all_ collapsed onto the floor in tears. Madam Pince, standing frozen behind them, lowered the books to the table with a sigh and then quickly walked away, shaking her head, lips twitching as if she were trying very hard not to smile.

* * *

_Saturday, November 25, 2017  
_

“So,” Astoria said, surveying them over her mug of tea, “what brought you over here at this hour?”

“We need to talk to you,” Scorpius said, bouncing nervously in his chair. Al reached out and grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing until Scorpius calmed slightly, though he couldn’t seem to stop jiggling his leg. Astoria raised one manicured eyebrow and waited. Scorpius gulped.

“We’ve got a suggestion,” Al broke in.

“Oh?” Ginny said. “And it couldn’t wait until breakfast, could it?” Her smile was warm, if a bit sleepy, and Al relaxed.

“We had an idea, Scorp and I, and we wanted to bring it up before things got too settled with the play, so we’ve been trying to find something to back us up.”

“They’ve been practically _living_ in the library,” Sasha said, rolling her eyes.

Ivan nodded gloomily. “ _We’ve_ been practically living in the library.”

Ginny snorted. “With these two? I can imagine.”

“There’s nothing wrong with doing a little research,” Hermione said primly.

Al smiled gratefully at her. “Thanks. Anyway, we had Madam Pince dig up all sorts of interesting books for us - convinced her to search through the back rooms, even interlibrary loan us some stuff from the muggle library back home.”

“My, my,” Pansy said, nibbling at a chocolate scone, “you have been busy. So what did you find?”

Al looked over at Scorp and squeezed his hand again. They both nodded, and then both started talking at once.

“Well, we read the play of course -“

“-Reread, you mean - “

“- And then we thought about what characters we’d like to play -“

“-And looked into how they were originally performed -“

“-Because we thought it would be cool to do it the historically accurate way-“

“-To be really authentic you know -“

“-And then we realized it would be _perfect_ for getting our dads together-“

“-Also really cool-“

“Boys!” Pansy scolded. “Stop that at once.”

Al and Scorpius instantly shut up, looking sheepish.

“Now,” Pansy continued, “please continue to tell us - _one at a time_ \- so that we have some chance of understanding you.”

“I want to play Romeo,” Al said. He looked at Scorpius, who took a deep breath and nodded.

“And I want to play Juliet.”

Pansy groaned, covering her ears. “Oh, Merlin _no_.”

“We brought references,” Al added quickly, pulling books from the bag he’d slung over the back of his chair.

“Here.” Scorpius grabbed the book they’d found. “It’s from the 1700s. An account of Shakespeare’s plays, and an argument that he was really a wizard.”

Hermione took it gingerly, eyes shining and suspiciously bright. “I recognize this. I had no idea Hogwarts had a copy.”

“Yeah,” Ivan said, you should have seen the room Madam Pince dug it out of. The dust was at least three inches thick.” He grimaced.

“You know,” Hermione said, looking at them as if she’d never seen them before, “I think it’s a fabulous idea.”

“‘Mione…” Astoria started, but Hermione talked over her.

“And I’m so impressed with you for doing this much research! Really, this is just…” She trailed off, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “In fact, your moms have been telling me a bit about project you guys have been working on, and I just want you to know that I will help you with anything I can. I have contacts in the magical and muggle world, at the major research libraries and museums, and I -“

Ginny and Astoria waved frantically at her. “No!” they shouted, “Wait! You don’t know what you’re offering!” Tilly cracked up again. Hermione ignored it all.

“I can probably even talk Neville into letting you go on research trips with me.”

“Oh, Hermione, would you really?” Scorpius’ was staring at her, eyes wide, looking as if she was his new favorites person. Al knew he probably looked much the same.

In the background, Ginny and Astoria groaned, defeated. Pansy shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips.

Tilly caught her aunt’s eye and smirked. “And, just think. Now you have the perfect excuse to get their dads to help out with adapting the roles.”


	41. Quidditch Brawl

_Sunday, November 26, 2017_

Ginny groaned, slumping back into her seat. “ _Merlin_ , they’re idiots.”

Luna patted her back absently, eyes trained on the circling figures overhead. “Yes, but they certainly can fly.”

Ginny laughed helplessly. “Only you, Luna, only you.” She groaned, craning her head back to watch her ex-husband’s antics, leaning comfortably into Astoria’s side.

High above them, circling predatorily in the unusually clear November sky, were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. The news had quickly circulated through the castle that whenever the pitch was free, and they weren’t in classes or meetings, both men could most often be found soaring through the air, chasing the tiny golden snitch, showing off and attempting ever-more daredevil moves in a constant battle to one-up one another, and always, always arguing. Often, the whole school turned out to watch - their seekers’ games had a higher turnout than the actual Quidditch Matches, McGonagall had confided to Ginny, faintly scandalized - but by the time they gave in and descended, mid-argument, to the quidditch pitch, only the three girls were left in the stands.

“Draco!” Ginny yelled, cupping her fingers around her mouth, “you looked good up there!” He nodded politely, giving her a confused half-wave, and then turned back to what looked like a heated argument. “You too, Harry!” Ginny laughed when he glared at her. “Are you coming to ours for dinner tonight?”

“Can’t,” Harry called back, almost cheerfully. “Too much grading to do. Some other time?”

“You? Grading?” Draco scoffed, elbowing him, then looked away, expression confused and a bit sheepish.

Harry didn’t seem to notice, merely rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, Malfoy - last one to the changing room is a rotten egg.” He took off, leaving Draco gaping after him.

Draco shrugged apologetically at Ginny, nodded to Astoria and Luna, and then turned and loped off after Harry, who was jogging in place a bit further down the pitch. “Rotten egg? What the hell are you on about, Potter? Is that some muggle phrase? It’s positively juvenile.”

“And yet, you’re wasting time chatting when you could be rid of me already.”

Ginny could see the blinding flash of Harry’s grin clear across the pitch, even though the rest of his figure was rapidly fading in the darkening gloom. She, Astoria, and Luna stood, staring after them, until their bickering voices faded away. “Idiots!” she muttered under her breath.

“Yes,” Luna said, shrugging. “Come on, then. I’m starving.”

* * *

_Friday, December 1, 2017  
_

“What in Merlin’s name happened here?” Ginny asked, surveying the packed hospital wing in horror. For a moment, the room full of groaning, battered bodies whisked her back to the battlefield, and she stumbled. Astoria caught her, supporting her weight without hesitation. Luna’s warm hand came to rest on the small of her back, lending her strength. Ginny took a deep breath of asceptic, lemon-scented air. This wasn’t the war. The war had been over for years, now. This was just some schoolyard brawl.

Steeling herself, she surveyed the beds, looking for her ex-husband. Yes, there he was, and next to him, the familiar shock of ice-blonde hair. Ginny sighed. “What did you do _now_?” she asked them, putting her hands on her hips and feeling rather like her mother.

“Er,” Harry said, glancing sheepishly up at her.

“It wasn’t _our_ fault!” Draco exclaimed. He quailed beneath the combined stare of the three girls - no, five, Ginny realized, spying Hermione and Pansy approaching, a stern, thin-lipped McGonagall in tow. “Well, not _entirely_ ,” he amended. “Potter started it.”

Ginny shifted her glare to her ex-husband. “ _Harry_.”

“What? No, not _this_ Potter,” Draco said, flapping his hand exasperatedly at Harry. “That idiotic son of yours. _James.”_

“Oh,” Ginny sighed. “Harry?”

“Er…”

“He really wasn’t doing anything,” Draco interrupted, looking extremely put out that he was forced to stick up for Harry. “He was coming to see what the fuss was about, same as I was.” He made a disgusted face. “He foolishly tried to reason with the boy, and just got himself cursed for his thanks.”

“Harry?” Ginny turned to him, horrified. “Is that true? Did _James_ -“

“No, no.” Harry said quickly. “It wasn’t him. At least, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.” He frowned. “I didn’t see who it was, actually. It happened too fast. I think all of Gryffindor and Slytherin were at the game.”

Pomfrey bustled between them, arms full of potions vials and eyes flashing exasperatedly. “Yes, without Mister Malfoy here, you’d be in much worse shape, Potter,” she said briskly. “Now, drink this, and then be off, the lot of you. I’m afraid I’ve not got room for anyone who’s not injured just now.” She waited, tapping her foot impatiently, until Harry had drained the potion, gagging slightly and quickly chased it with the water she handed him. “Oh, and Harry?” she said, as he handed her the empty glass and stood up, wobbling slightly.

“Yes?” he said, carefully not looking at Draco’s hand, which had shot out to grasp his elbow and steady him before anyone else had time to react.

“ _Do_ try and stay out of trouble for once? You won’t always have Draco here to watch out for you.”

Harry scowled at the floor and shuffled his feet. Draco puffed up proudly, and Ginny giggled as Astoria reached out and poked his chest, deflating him somewhat. “Come on, you great peacock,” she said, shaking her head. “You can preen just as well out of Madam Pomfrey’s way. _And_ ,” she whispered, leaning in so only those closest could hear her, “McGonagall is coming this way.”

Draco blanched. “Come on, Potter. I don’t fancy another lecture, just now.”

“Hermione’s with her,” Ginny added, when Harry seemed inclined to argue.

He glowered at her, but allowed her to take his arm and help him across the infirmary. None of them mentioned that Draco was still holding his other elbow, nor that, the further they walked, the more Harry leaned on his human crutches - on Draco, in particular.

“Can you get him back to his room, Draco?” Luna asked abruptly, once they’d reached the wing the teachers’ rooms were in.

“Well, I - “

“Good,” she said cheerfully. “We’ve a meeting, and we’re late already. Thanks, Draco!” She hooked one arm through Ginny’s, the other through Astoria’s, and dragged them away from the two staring men.

“Luna?” Ginny asked, once she judged they were out of earshot, “Do we really have a meeting?”

“Yes,” she said cheerfully. A smug grin bloomed on her face, and her eyes twinkled. “Well, sort of. I need to talk to Sasha and Tilly about something, and I figured now was as good a time as any. And this way, Draco will have to go into Harry’s rooms _and_ , judging by what I know of Harry, treat some injuries that he considered too minor to bother Poppy with, but that Draco won’t be able to ignore. So, you know, all to the good.”

Ginny and Astoria stared at her for a moment, shocked at her deviousness, then impulsively kissed her, one on each cheek. Luna giggled. “Come on, then,” she said, tugging them forward, “let’s go scheme.”

* * *

“Where are the boys?” Ginny asked, looking curiously around the room Tilly had directed them to. It was Al’s certainly, and she recognized Scorpius’ things by now, but the extra beds and belongings confused her.

“Hermione came by to collect them earlier,” Sasha said, looking up from under her spiky bangs. She was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, painting her nails a truly lurid shade of orange. Ginny thought of Ron’s eternal Chudley Cannons obsession and shuddered. “I forget where they were going - somewhere to look at some primary source, blah blah. It didn’t seem terribly important.” She rolled her eyes fondly.

Ginny smiled. “You didn’t want to go, I take it?”

Sasha shrugged, an unreadable look passing swiftly over her face. “Couldn’t even if I did, could I? I doubt Mum would be too excited about me taking trips off campus with strangers.”

“But, couldn’t Hermione or Pansy -“

“No dice,” Pansy spoke up, from where she’d been lounging, near-invisible, on the fourth bed. “I tried.”

The flare of hope in Sasha’s face died, to be instantly replaced with a stoic indifference. Ginny opened her mouth to ask who her parents were - maybe she could do _something_ \- but Astoria got there first.

Sasha shrugged. “Dunno where Dad is, do I, but Mum’s named Erin - Erin Davison.”

“Really?” Astoria asked, eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s _wonderful_! She was one of my best friends, when we were students. Her parents sent her to Beauxbatons when things started getting rough here. I wonder… I’ll be right back.”

“So,” Ginny said, frowning around the room, “Who else lives here, and why do you two look so cozy?”

Tilly and Sasha shared a worried glance. “Oh. I guess we forgot to tell you. We, ah, all stay here. Most of the time, anyway.”

“All?” Pansy asked, eyebrows raised. She looked pointedly at the four beds.

The tips of Tilly’s ears turned red, but her voice didn’t waver. “That’s right. I sleep here, Sasha there, and Ivan over there.” Pansy caught Ginny’s eye then, eyebrows climbing even higher. She flicked her eyes to Tilly’s hand, and Ginny followed the motion to see it firmly grasped in Sasha’s. Well. That would be why the girls had been allowed to stay. But… “There’s only four beds.”

Tilly’s mouth curved into a sly smirk. “Oh, Al and Scorp share that one. It’s not like it’s any different than before - they had the beds shoved together, when it was just the two of ‘em in here. Al’s dad knows - Scorp’s too.”

Ginny snorted. _Well. It looks like Harry and I will have to have a little chat._ She was distracted by Ivan, who stomped into the room just then and slumped onto his bed. “I can’t do it,” he muttered into his pillow.

“Ivan?” Luna said, going to sit beside him. “What can’t you do?”

“Oh, er, hullo,” he said, sheepishly emerging from the pillow. “I’ve just been trying to figure out costumes. Only Mum’s out of touch for a few weeks and I don’t know who else to ask about a sewing machine. And contacts! No one will talk to me because I’m _a boy_.” He scowled darkly at the wall.

“Come with me,” Luna said. “I might be able to help with that.”

“You sew?” he asked skeptically, taking in her outfit.

“No,” she giggled, “but I _am_ a dancer. I don’t make my own costumes - they’re made by a friend. And he can probably help you get what you need. You can get on all right without me, right girls?” They nodded, and she led a much more cheerful Ivan from the room.

“So,” Tilly said, rolling her eyes and obligingly fanning her fingers as Sasha attacked her nails with sparkly aqua polish, “what’s the plan?”

 


	42. Scars

_Saturday, December 16, 2017_

_I knew I was going to regret this._ Draco stared resentfully at Harry, who, as usual, just looked confused.

He’d been avoiding him - mostly successfully - since he’d been conned into helping him back to his room after the disastrous Gryffindor-Slytherin brawl.

Draco scowled. He’d still not gotten satisfactory answers from any of his house about what on earth had started it - only that it had involved Harry’s eldest troublemaker son. At least Al seemed like a decent kid. If Scorpius had taken up with someone like James…

Draco massaged his temples wearily. No, James seemed to be something of an anomaly in the Potter family, much as he was loath to admit it. He liked Al. The boy was a perfect match for Scorpius - even he could admit that. And he liked Ginny well enough - except when she and Astoria ganged up on him, like they’d done the other day. Hell, he even liked _Harry_ \- which was, of course, the problem.

He’d tried to leave Harry at his door that night. It was only logical - he’d taken Pomfrey’s potion and been dismissed from the hospital wing - surely he could make it to his bed on his own? Apparently not.

Oh, he’d tried, the idiot. Luckily, Draco’s key had stuck and he hadn’t made it into his rooms when Harry pitched forward through his door. Draco, fool that he was, had lunged forward to catch the idiot, straining a muscles in his left thigh, then had been forced to half-carry him to his bed. _Of course_ Harry had injuries he’d not told Madam Pomfrey about. Because he “didn’t want to bother her.”

Draco snorted, drawing confused glances from the others, busily arguing about the best way to carry out this farce. He rolled his eyes and waved them off. He certainly wasn’t going to tell them what he was thinking about. _Damn_ Potter and his infernal inferiority complex. He tried to focus on the heated conversation across the room, Astoria’s photographs on the wall in front of him, anything but that night…

* * *

_Friday, December 1, 2017_

“Thanks,” Harry said sheepishly, once Draco had heaved him onto his bed. “I, uh, guess I’m not quite as strong as I thought.”

Draco glared at him. “Apparently. Where are they, Potter?”

“Where are what?” Harry asked innocently, eyes flicking nervously away from his face.

Draco sighed. “Don’t mistake me for a fool, Potter. Where are the injuries you hid from Madam Pomfrey?”

Harry flushed guiltily. “I didn’t _hide_ them. Just… forgot to mention them.”

Draco stared at him incredulously. Harry held his gaze for several seconds, then looked away. “They’re nothing, really. There was no need to bother Pomfrey about them, not when she had so many injuries to deal with. I’ve got some salve here - I can take care of them.”

Draco snorted. “Oh, yes. Just like you took care of getting safely into your room?”

“I -“

“Just tell me where the damn salve is, Potter, so I can go to bed and forget about this disaster of a day.”

Harry deflated. “Fine. It’s in the bathroom.” He pointed to a small door Draco hadn’t noticed. “In the medicine cabinet. Second shelf.”

Draco fetched it, then stared menacingly down at him, channeling his memories of Snape and attempting to loom as much as possible. “Well?”

“Just give it here.” Harry’s hand shot out to take the jar, and he glared when Draco pulled it out of his reach.

“No. You. Are. Injured. Do I need to put a full body-bind on you and drag you back to the hospital wing? I will, you know.”

Harry grumbled under his breath, but wiggled out of his robes, wincing as he pushed them off his shoulders, and then un-tucked his shirt. Draco felt his breathing hitch, and his mouth went dry - both of which he studiously ignored. He was going to make sure the reckless idiot wasn’t going to die, and then he was going to bed. In the morning, if said reckless idiot was still alive, he was going to kill him.

“Here,” Harry said, voice muffled as he heaved his shirt over his head and turned away from Draco, exposing a nasty series of bruises down his left side and scattered across the pale expanse of his back.

Draco gulped, then steeled himself, dipping his fingers into the salve and tentatively touching them to Harry’s skin.

“ _Merlin_!” Harry exclaimed, jumping slightly. “Are you _trying_ to freeze me? Warm it up first!”

“Yes, your majesty,” Draco spat, but he cast a quick warming charm over the jar and the salve on his fingers before touching them to the first bruise.

Neither man spoke as Draco applied the salve, and he quickly lost himself in the surreal experience of massaging the minty salve into Harry’s pale skin. It was dotted with freckles, which surprised him, and scars, which did not. Oh, some of them did. He recognized a few of the more distinctive ones - left by particularly nasty Dark curses that he’d had directed at his own pale skin, more than once. He tried not to think of the times he’d used them himself. He focused quickly back on Harry’s skin, not willing to break down here as he knew he would, if he let his mind travel that familiar path of regret.

The scars that surprised him were different - older. The neat stripes hadn’t been caused by magic, and they were too faded to have been acquired during the war, anyway. It had been two decades, but those scars were slow to fade. These… these Harry had to have gotten as a child.

Images assaulted him, then. Harry, as he’d first looked, small and pale and… yes. Not just gangly. Malnourished. Draco’s fingers stilled as he flipped through the memories. How Harry filled out, each year, until he looked almost human, beneath those horrid oversized clothes. How he returned after summers at home, nothing but skin and bones, flinching at odd moments. How he never complained; took all Draco’s jibes about his exalted life and didn’t let on how very far from the mark they were.

He’d heard the rumors, of course. Back then and more recently. There had been plenty of exposés after the war. The faux-journalistic drivel that Draco did his best to ignore. There had been plenty about him, too, and not all of them true. Some were, and those were memories he didn’t care to dwell on. But, as usual, he’d been unable to ignore Harry.

He’d devoured those articles, disappointed when Harry himself never deigned to grant interviews. Never commented on them. Draco had taken that as further proof that these “journalists” were grasping at straws and had resorted to making up a tragic backstory for their heroic golden boy. He’d never imagined that the horrible things they’d said had been _true_. Even after Harry confirmed some of it - the far-from-exalted home life, the malnourishment and emotional abuse… He’d assumed the rest was like the stories they’d started printing of him, when the juicy details ran dry. Lies and slander and sensationalism. Not… _this_.

“Malfoy?”

Draco jumped, eyes raising to meet Harry’s. _Damn_. He’d not planned on making eye contact - he was going to take care of the damn injuries, and then escape to his room and have a nice breakdown. But now that he was looking into those impossibly green eyes…

Draco felt himself melt, and he was gratefully that he’d been forced to kneel to take care of Harry’s injuries, because he really didn’t think his legs would support him right now. His veins fizzed and his breath caught painfully in his throat. He was lost.

Harry looked away, coughing. “Er. Thanks, Malfoy. I - that’s all of them, I think.”

Draco stared at him blankly for a moment. “Oh. OK. Um. I’ll just…” he closed his eyes, despising himself, then forced the steel to return to his backbone as he rose smoothly to his feet, dropping the jar of salve on the bedside table. “Be sure to see Madam Pomfrey in the morning, Potter. Some of those look rather nasty, and I’d rather not be accused of letting the _Savior of the Wizarding World_ die.

He injected as much venom as he could into the title, and felt a small, vindictive part of himself rejoice; the rest of him - too fanciful by half - withered as the strange light dimmed and faded from Potter’s too-green eyes.

“Right,” Potter muttered. “Would hate to inconvenience you.”

Draco didn’t answer - he didn’t trust himself to speak without letting the apology trip off the end of his tongue. He nodded stiffly then turned and swept out. _Snape_ , he thought absently, _would have been proud._

* * *

_Saturday, December 16, 2017_

He hadn’t spoken to the git since.

At least, not until today, when Astoria had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he would be helping them with the play. That afternoon. And, once Ginny had dragged in an unwilling Harry, they’d unleashed their ridiculous revenge.

Apparently, their idiot sons had determined to audition for - and win - the roles of Romeo and Juliet. Of _course_ his son would be Juliet. And of _course_ he and Harry would be asked to stand in for their sons while the girls worked out how best to stage and adapt the thing for two male leads.

Draco was not going to survive this. The only bright spot in his increasingly gloomy future was that Harry would go down with him.


	43. Zabini

**_A/N: So, in order to cover what I want to and also (hopefully) wrap things up during October, the next few chapters will be structured as a series of snapshots that take place over several days (or weeks). Pay attention to the dates at the top of each section, and refer to the calendar if you get lost. Please let me know if this is confusing._ **

* * *

_Saturday, December 16, 2017_

“Harry?” Hermione asked, “What’s going on with Draco?”

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Draco’s back. “Damned if I know, ‘Mione.”

“Well, what happened after we left him to help you back to your room?” Ginny asked. “You seemed to be getting on just fine before that.”

Harry closed his eyes, remembering warm hands on his back, gently rubbing soothing circles into his aching muscles.

Then he remembered that haughty voice, dripping with scorn, calling him the ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’ as if it was the most repulsive thing he could possibly be, and hunched his shoulders, retreating into himself. Those words had hurt more than any of the harsh words they’d traded before. He’d thought they were past all that.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, trying for nonchalant. “Where’s that script you wanted me to look at, Gin? I’m more tired than I thought - think I’ll head back. I’ll see you girls later.” He faked a yawn and was met with five pairs of disbelieving eyes. Astoria wordlessly handed him the scrip; he nodded his thanks, feet already propelling him toward the door. He felt their eyes on him long after he left. He didn’t look back.

* * *

_Monday, December 18, 2017_

“Avoiding him isn’t going to make this go away, Harry.”

Harry turned slowly in his chair to see Luna perched comfortably on one of the desks. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Hullo to you, too, Luna. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy today, so -“

“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of it that easily.” Her face was set in stubborn lines, and Harry sighed.

“Listen, Luna, I appreciate what you guys are trying to do - really, I do - but it isn’t going to work. We’re just too different.”

Luna cocked her head, regarding him steadily. Her quicksilver eyes were impossibly bright. “You’re not. He’s more like you than either of you realize.”

Harry set down the paper he’d been trying to read, massaging his temples wearily. “Luna…”

“You’re remarkably stubborn, Harry, but that doesn’t mean you’re right. Honestly. It’s like you didn’t even hear the things he told you.”

Harry jerked around to face her, knocking the glass tank off the edge of his desk.

Luna caught it with a negligent flick of her wand, setting it neatly back on the desktop, unharmed. Harry breathed a soft sigh of relief. He did _not_ have the patience to deal with an angry grindylow just now. “Thanks.”

She nodded, setting the constellation of tiny bells that were woven through her rainbow-streaked hair chiming.

Harry forgot what he’d been going to say. “You’ve, er, got bells in your hair.”

“Hmmm?”

“Bells? Y’know? Small, brass, make noise - y’know what? Never mind. What were you saying about not listening to what he said?”

She frowned at him. “You know, Harry. In the hospital wing. After the duel? He told Astoria that the pain potions made him talk; that he told you every - Oh. You _didn’t_ hear, did you?”

Understanding and pity dawned in her eyes, and he hated her for it, just a little. “Er. I put up a _muffliato_. I thought - it didn’t seem right to eavesdrop like that.” He glared at the desktop, voice small and hurt. “He told Astoria.”

Luna hesitated. “Well, not everything, certainly, but -“

“Great. Wonderful. But he still won’t tell me.” He heard the bitterness creeping into his tone, but didn’t bother trying to stop it.

“Harry…” Luna frowned. “He thinks he _did_ tell you. He doesn’t know you didn’t hear.”

Harry scowled, kicking at the floor moodily. “The one time I try to do something right…”

Luna sighed, rising to her feet in a chorus of tinkling bells. “We’re meeting tonight, for dinner, to work on the play. We’ll see you at six.”

“Will _Malfoy_ be there?’

She ignored him. “Bring your script with you.”

“Maybe I just won’t show up.”

There was no answer - Luna had already breezed out. Sighing, Harry tried to go back to grading, but quickly gave it up as useless. He yanked the script from under the pile of papers, stuck his tongue out at the grindylow, and started to read. If he was going to suffer through the girls’ peculiar torture, he was at least going to make sure he didn’t make a fool of himself. Anyway, Draco probably already had the damn thing memorized. 

* * *

_Saturday, December 23, 2017_

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.” Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s not an innuendo, you absolute imbecile!”

Draco’s face had gone an interesting - and quite distracting - shade of pink, and Harry was having trouble keeping a straight face. Baiting Draco was such _fun_. He’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed it, back in school. He shoved the distracting images of a younger Draco - flushed for a _very_ different reason - aside. He didn’t know if they were true memories or not, but it didn’t matter.

Draco _still_ refused to tell him what had happened between them, but working together on the play every night for the past week had proved Draco to be a pleasant - if easily flustered - companion. Harry was trying to let the past go and accept what Draco _was_ offering: friendship, of a sort. It was a spikier friendship than Harry shared with anyone else, but, somehow, he didn’t really mind. It was _Malfoy_. Of _course_ their relationship - friendship - would be spiky.

“Well?” Draco said impatiently, and Harry wrenched himself back to the present, and the flushed, _annoyed_ , Draco in front of him.

He shrugged. “Well, what?”

Draco spluttered, and Harry laughed.

* * *

_Monday, December 25, 2017_

Christmas brunch at the Burrow was surprisingly fun. Al invited Scorpius, of course, and also Ivan and Sasha and Tilly. Ginny invited Astoria, Hermione, Pansy and Luna. Harry, after several not-so-subtle hints from Ginny, gave in and invited Draco. Molly Weasley, to her credit, didn’t bat an eye at all the extra guests; she simply sent her boys off to scrounge chairs and dishes for all of them.

George pulled Harry and Draco aside during the mad scramble of “where did I put my coat” and “sod the coat - where did I put my _kids_ ” once brunch had been stretched as late into the evening as they could manage. He looked furtively around, then dragged them into the broom closet and pressed something into Harry’s palm.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, frowning down at it.

“Shh!” George hissed, curling his fingers back over it. “It’s something Fred and I were working on, before… Anyway. I’ve been tinkering with it lately, and I think I’ve got it.”

“That’s great!” Harry said, glad that George was finally moving forward. “Er. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Need a test subject, don’t I?” George asked, rolling his eyes. “Figured you two would have the easiest time getting into Teddy’s room. Hurry, now - I”ll distract him.”

George winked and slipped out of the closet. Harry immediately realized just how small it actually was, and that the wall he’d assumed his back was pressed against was actually Draco. His face heated and his breath caught. He had almost worked up the courage to lean further against him - deliberately! - when Draco said “come on,” and pushed past him and through the door. Harry wondered, as he struggled to regain his composure, if he’d imagined that Draco’s voice was slightly strangled.

* * *

Harry was re-locking Teddy’s door when Draco hissed “McGonagall’s coming!” and melted into the shadows.

“Mister Potter!”

Harry turned, stuffing his hands behind his back guiltily. “Hullo, Professor.”

McGonagall studied him over the rim of her glasses, frowning. “Mister Potter,” she said, “what in Godric’s name has gotten into you?

Harry squirmed under her steely gaze. “I…Malfoy… that is…”

McGonagall massaged her temples. “Of course Mister Malfoy is tied up in this,” she said wearily, “shall I go and fetch him, then?”

“There’s no need,” Draco drawled, stepping out of the shadows by the door.

McGonagall frowned. “What - “

A crash sounded from a neighboring corridor, and Peeves zoomed past them, cackling madly. McGonagall closed her eyes. “I’ll deal with you two later. Just… stop skulking about the corridors.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at her retreating back. “Someone might think you’re _up_ to _something_ ,” he muttered.

“I heard that, Mister Potter…”

Harry and Draco collapsed against the door, trying to muffle their laughter.

“I can’t believe you said that!” Draco said, snickering and dropping his head to Harry’s shoulder.

“Hang on!” Harry drew back to look at him suspiciously. “How did you know about that?”

Draco’s embarrassed flush was quickly becoming one of Harry’s favorite things. “I, uh, might have been following you. Sort of.”

“Awww, did ickle Draco have a crush?”

Draco flushed deeper. "Shut it, Potter. Need I remind you that youadmitted to stalking _me_ , not so long ago? Now, lets get out of here before Teddy gets back."

* * *

_Tuesday, December 26, 2017_

After the surprisingly fun, incredibly chaotic brunch at the Burrow, they’d all needed some time to recover. The next night, the girls held their own, smaller Christmas party.

Harry, as usual, spent it arguing with Draco,

“But _why_ won’t you tell me? C’mon, Malfoy. What do you have to lose?”

Draco sighed. “I’ve _told_ you, Potter, I - Blaise!”

Harry turned, frowning, to see a dark-skinned man in flamboyant clothing dash across the room and into Draco’s arms.

“But,” Draco was saying, still wrapped in the over-enthusiastic hug, “what are you doing here? Where’s Rachel?”

Blaise grimaced. “Gone. Good riddance. She left me for fucking _Chris._ Her _secretary_.” He huffed. “Anyway, that’s done - I’m here now. Potter.” He nodded stiffly as Harry approached.

“Potter,” Draco said quickly, “you remember Blaise Zabini?”

Harry nodded. “Zabini,” he said evenly. Then he walked as nonchalantly as possible over to Luna and smiled at her as he leaned in to hiss in her ear. “We need to talk.”

She turned her sunny smile on him, and he took her arm, leading her out of earshot. “Right,” he said, glaring at her. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Blaise?” Luna looked puzzled. “He needed somewhere to go, to get away for a bit. It’s horrible about his wife - she wasn’t very good for him, and -“

“Yes, all right, fine. But why is he _here_?”

She frowned at him. “Because he’s helping with the play of course. Ivan needed a contact and assistance with the costumes, and Blaise knows how to handle fabric.”

Harry glared across the room, to where Blaise and Draco were huddled together, talking animatedly. “I’ll just bet he does.”

“Harry - “ Luna plucked at his sleeve, but he ignored her.

“I don’t trust him,” he said abruptly. “And I don’t like him.”

“Well, all right, I suppose, that’s your prerogative, but -“

“I don’t want him around Draco.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, Harry, I’m not Draco’s keeper. He’s his own man - if he wants to spend time with Blaise, _his very good friend that he’s not seen in years_ , then I don’t see any problem with it. If you’re going to be a prat about it, I suggest you leave.”

Harry left.

* * *

_Wednesday, December 27, 2017_

“Luna?” Harry opened the door cautiously, but no one seemed to be up. It _was_ early, but Luna had always been an early riser, even after late nights. Not that he knew if it _had_ been a late night… He winced. Well, that’s what he was here for: to apologize for his rudeness at the party the night before. He peeked into the living room, frowning at the blankets and pillows strewn on the couch, and then wandered into the kitchen, expecting to see Luna curled around her customary cup of fragrant tea.

Instead, he found Blaise Zabini, hunched over a cup of coffee and plate of pastries at the kitchen table, wearing only slytherin green silk boxers. He grunted a response that Harry couldn’t make out. He was about to ask him to repeat it when Draco walked in, wearing what looked like identical boxers and an indecently short and ratty bathrobe that he must have borrowed from one of the girls. He dropped into the chair next to Blaise, greeting him fondly as he snagged a pastry, poured himself a cup of tea, and snapped open the day’s Prophet.

Harry turned on his heel and walked out.

 _Fucking Zabini_.

* * *

_Sunday, December 31, 2017_

Harry had been avoiding Draco all night. Of _course_ he would be at the girls’ New Years Eve party. Of _course_ he would be practically glued to Blaise’s side. Harry had successfully avoided him since the disastrous Christmas party, and he’d hoped to continue avoiding him for the rest of the school year. _It’s just my luck that I couldn’t even make it to the end of the_ calendar _year_ , he thought bitterly, as soon as he spotted the familiar pale hair across the room. He spent the next few hours dodging and weaving through the crowd, downing countless glasses of punch, and trying not to to look miserable. Midnight was fast approaching when he was unwittingly drawn into a conversation with Ginny and Pansy about adapting the play’s dialogue to make it more modern.

* * *

Draco stumbled slightly as he stepped unsteadily from Blaise’s side and approached Harry, sweeping his wineglass in a wide arc. “Wherefore does not mean _where_ , you uncultured heathen. Honestly, Potter. Don’t you know anything?”

Harry set his own glass down just a bit too hard, slopping punch over the rim. It pooled on the snow-white linen, the blood-red stain creeping over the fabric. Harry stared, transfixed. “Yes, Malfoy,” he said quietly, refusing to look at him, “I do. I know what it’s like to spend a year on the run, sharing the toxic burden of a horcrux, eating nothing but mushrooms and berries scrounged in the forest, worrying every night that you’ll just fail to wake up, and everyone you know and love will die.”

Harry raised his voice. “I know what it’s like to grow up without parents, without love, living in a cupboard and being treated more harshly than any house-elf. I know what it’s like to realize that the man you looked up to and trusted - the first person that you thought loved you - was actually just using you as a pawn in his war, keeping you safe so you could die at the proper moment.”

He looked up, eyes wild and distant. “I know what it’s like to _die_ , Malfoy, then to be denied even that peace, to kill and then be adored by people who know _nothing_ about what your so called ‘heroism’ was actually like. But no, I don’t know that wherefore doesn’t mean where. I suppose my education was somewhat lacking.” He stared around at them, panting, chest heaving, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Ginny squeaked, Astoria had her hand clapped over her mouth, eyes over-bright; Hermione was crying softly into a subdued Pansy’s shoulder. Only Luna looked at him as she always had: with quiet acceptance and understanding tinged with sadness. He didn’t look at Draco.

Harry turned in a slow circle, pinning them all in place with his glare. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry for letting you all down - _again,_ but you’ll just have to find someone else to help you with your stupid play. Actually, you’ve already got someone, haven’t you? I’m sure _Blaise_ can stand in for Romeo just as well as I can. I hope you have a bloody good New Year.”

He stalked away from them, back toward Hogwarts, as the fireworks started to go off, painting the sky in brilliant reds and yellows. He stared at the ground as he walked back, kicking moodily at the small rocks unfortunate enough to cross his path; the vibrant colors danced and sparked at the edges of his vision.

 


	44. Cold Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to do my best to finish up this story by the end of October, so I can focus on my novel in November for nanowrimo. I *think* I can do it - and will wrap this up by early November at the latest. I'm sad that we're reaching the end, but at the same time, there's not that much more I want to do with this story, and I'm pretty happy with how it has gone so far, and how the ending is shaping up. Thank you to all of you who have stayed with me for the ride these past few months. I've really appreciated all the comments and encouragement. Just wanted to let you know :-)

_Tuesday, December 26, 2017_

Draco and Pansy were curled together on the small couch in the library, Blaise draped comfortably over their laps, the three of them gravitating unconsciously to the position they’d always preferred in school. Blaise’s head rested in Pansy’s lap, his knees in Draco’s. Pansy idly stroked his hair; Draco stared moodily into the fire.

“Blaise, darling,” Pansy asked, “what happened? You disappeared and all either of us heard from you was that note —“

He groaned. “ _Rachel_ is what happened.”

“That Beauxbatons chick I saw you with at the Triwizard Tournament?”

“That’s the one. My illustrious mother betrothed me to her as soon as I graduated.” He frowned. “Well, no, I think the betrothal was actually after fourth year, but she didn’t tell me about it until I graduated. I guess she thought it prudent to wait on planning anything until she knew if I’d be alive.”

“And?”

“And _what_ Pansy? You’ll have to be more specific.”

She flicked his forehead with one long fingernail.

“Ow! Salazar, Pansy. That hurt.”

“Good,” she said, unrepentant. “It was supposed to. Now. What happened?”

He grimaced. “What else? We got married. I didn’t mind too much - she was even more beautiful then than she was at the Tournament.”

Pansy flicked him again.

“What was that for?”

“For not inviting us to the wedding.”

“You weren’t really… politically expedient, is the phrase I think mother used. She handled all of that - I just had to show up.”

“And you didn’t write us after because…”

“Because _Rachel_ was jealous. She didn’t like the idea of me writing to my old friends - was afraid I’d be unfaithful.”

Pansy coughed. “That’s not entirely unreasonable Blaise. You’re a terrible flirt, and you’ll sleep with almost anyone, as just about everyone in Slytherin can attest. And half of Ravenclaw.”

“…That’s beside the point.”

She snorted and patted his head. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

“Anyway, I did what she asked. And she _still_ left me for fucking Chris.” He scowled.

Pansy gently smoothed away the lines on his brow. “There, there. Don’t fret, darling, you’ll get wrinkles.”

Draco, who had been unusually quiet during their exchange, sighed heavily. Pansy and Blaise both turned to look at him. Pansy patted Blaise’s head one more time, and then gently shifted him so she could stand.

“Well, I’m off to bed darlings. Don’t get too crazy without me.”

Blaise lifted one hand in a languid wave. “Going to have your wicked way with Granger, then?”

Pansy smirked at him. “You know it.”

Draco didn’t even look up. They shared a worried glance. “Talk to him!” Pansy mouthed, then turned and mounted the stairs.

Blaise waited a few moments, giving Draco a chance to bring whatever was weighing on him up himself.

“Draco.”

“Hmmm?”

“Come here.” He levered himself into a sitting position, pulling Draco against him at the same time and stroking his pale hair softly. Draco sighed.

“What’s this about then?” Blaise asked, moving closer in an attempt to see into Draco’s eyes.

“What do you think? What has it _always_ been about?” Draco asked morosely.

“Still?” Blaise asked, staring at him. “Draco…”

“I know, I know. But…” he shrugged helplessly. “He’s _Potter_.”

“You’re _still_ mooning over him? Salazar, Draco, it’s been 20 years.”

Draco mumbled something unintelligible into Blaise’s shoulder, and he sighed.

“Have you told him?”

“Can’t.”

“ _Why_ can’t you?”

“Just hold me. Please? I need - I can’t talk about Potter right now.”

Blaise frowned, but he wrapped his arms around Draco anyway, offering what little comfort he could.

Draco tried to focus on the comfort Blaise offered, on the solid, familiar warmth of his presence. He’d spent so very many nights like this, in the Slytherin common room. Sitting up late into the night, wrapped in Blaise’s warm embrace, trying not to pretend it was someone else he was holding. It never worked.

Blaise shifted, pulling Draco further into his lap and nuzzling at his neck. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, melting into Blaise’s familiar scent. But when Blaise’s lips started trailing kisses up his jaw, he tensed and pulled away.

“Blaise… please. I can’t.”

Blaise sighed, reluctantly letting him go. “You need to relax, Draco. I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, but…”

He smiled wistfully. “But I’m not what you need - never have been.”

“No.”

“It’s too bad, you know. We’d be good together, Draco.”

“I know. You’ve been telling me that for 20 years - longer. But I —“

“But you love Potter.”

Draco dropped his head back to Blaise’s shoulder, warm tears trickling down his cheeks. “Yes,” he whispered.

Blaise sighed. “You need to do something, Draco. Either tell him the truth or move on. You can’t live in limbo forever. You deserve better than that - no matter what your father told you.”

“But he’s the Chosen One. Why would he want me?”

Blaise took his shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Draco. You _are_ good enough for him. Listen to me. You’re never going to be friends. You could _never_ be just friends. Yes, it will be painful. Yes, you run the risk of him hating you, but… he deserves to know. You love him. You have loved him for as long as I’ve known you.”

Draco stared at him, wide-eyed, and Blaise laughed, a trifle bitterly. “Yes, even as a child, before you even met him. I remember, Draco. You idolized him. All you wanted to hear about was Harry bloody Potter. It drove your father mad. He snorted. Pansy, too. And she wasn’t the only one who wanted you, Draco. You could have had any of us that you wanted. But you could never see anyone else. And, if you recall, he _did_ want you once - you’re the one who threw that away.”

“I had to —“

Blaise shook his head. “I’m not going to get into that argument with you again. You made your choice. Fine. Now you have to make another one. You can choose to tell him the truth, let _him_ choose whether to take you back, or you can move on. I can’t help you make that choice, but you need to do it. For both of you.” He gently untangled himself from Draco and stood. He squeezed Draco’s shoulder for a moment.

“If you choose to let him go, you’re always welcome to come to me. That offer still stands. But for now I’m going to give you some space to think about it. I’ll see you in the morning, Draco.”

Draco looked up, eyes really focusing on Blaise for the first time that evening. “Where are you going to sleep?”

Blaise grinned crookedly at him. “Luna and I have an arrangement. I’ll be in her room - though I can’t guarantee I’ll be sleeping.” He winked and then bounded up the stairs, all long limbs and languid grace.

For just a moment, Draco allowed himself to wish that he _could_ let this thing with Harry go, take Blaise up on his offer. But he couldn’t now any more than he could back in sixth year. He curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest, and stared into the flames. It was a long time before he slept, but morning didn’t bring clarity - only gritty eyes and a world that was too sharp around the edges.

* * *

_Sunday, December 31, 2017_

Draco straightened, suddenly, staring across the room. “I didn’t think he’d come. Merlin, Blaise, what do I do now?”

“What are you on about, Draco?” Blaise knew, of course. He’d seen the way Draco’s eyes had snapped to the door, to the golden-brown skin and messy black curls and green eyes that could only belong to Potter.

“Potter. He’s here.”

“Well, these are his friends…”

“I need to talk to him. No, what am I saying? I need to get far, far away. Quick, in here!” Draco ducked toward the far door.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, pointedly not moving an inch.

“Blaise!” Draco’s eyes widened and his breath came quicker. He looked ready to bolt

Blaise regarded him coolly. “No. You need to just tell him already. Or he’ll find someone else and I’ll have to listen to you mope about it until we’re 90. Longer than that, probably.”

Draco buried his face in his hands, heedless of his wineglass, then clutched at Blaise’s arm.

“Watch it!” Blaise yelped, jerking his arm out of reach. “This is silk, Draco!”

“Sod your shirt! What do I do?” Draco clutched at his sleeve again.

“What do you usually do?" Blaise moved away from his grasping fingers, eying his wildly swinging wineglass and trying to stay out of reach of any stray drops.

Draco blushed and mumbled, “Well, I insult him, generally, and then we start arguing, and —“

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Draco. No. That is _not_ how to - Draco! Merlin you’re an idiot - wait!” But Draco was already moving toward Harry, drawn to him as though to a lodestone.

* * *

Draco stood, staring in shock, as Harry walked away. “Harry,” he whispered, and moved to go after him, but Blaise caught his arm.

“Draco. No. You’ll only make it worse.”

“But —“

“Come with me. Potter needs to cool off for a bit. You both do.”

The girls smiled sadly at them as Blaise wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders and led him away to cry in private.

* * *

_Thursday, January 11, 2018_

Draco stared listlessly at Neville as he droned on about how he needed to focus on the students, blah blah, something. He hadn’t slept well since New Years, and the world was fuzzy around the corners. He stared out the window, watching a bird circling in the overcast sky, wishing he could be out there, flying, free.

“Mister Malfoy - Draco!” Neville snapped at him, and Draco forced his gaze back to his exasperated headmaster.

“Yes?” he said vaguely, attention skittering away again.

Neville sighed. “This is pointless. Minerva, would you…”

Draco heard the door opening, closing, then opening again. And then he snapped to full awareness. McGonagall had returned… with a sulking Harry.

Harry looked like he’d had a hard few weeks too - his green eyes were glassy and his mop of hair was more disheveled than usual. His golden-brown skin had lost some of its glow. Draco felt his fingers twitching, trying to reach out to him, to offer comfort. He forced them to still. Harry had made it _abundantly_ clear that he didn’t want comfort from Draco. He’d avoided him for nearly two weeks, and Draco had just about given up. He knew when he wasn’t wanted, no matter what pretty lies Blaise tried to tell him.

Draco had tried. He really had. But every time he walked into a room, Harry walked out. Every time he called out to him, on the rare occasions they passed in the hall, Harry turned away. Draco could take a hint, and Harry was being abundantly clear.

He realized that Neville was speaking again, saying his name, and Harry’s, and he strove desperately to pay attention.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you two,” Neville said, voice tight, “and I don’t really care, but you are going to get your shit together, and you are going to do it _now_.” He glared at them. “Honestly. Teachers. _House Heads._ What kind of example do you think you are setting for your students? For your _sons_?”

Draco flinched guiltily, and he saw that Harry did too. It wasn’t about the students… but he knew that he’d not been a very good teacher – or father – lately. He just couldn’t concentrate on anything.

Harry spoke then, voice gravely and rough. “What are you saying?”

Neville took a steadying breath. “I am _saying_ , Harry, that you and Draco are going to go back to the girls _tonight_ and apologize for making their job harder than it should be. You are going to help them with the play, and you are going to enjoy it. And then you are going to attempt to finish out the year as semi-competent teachers. Now, Minerva will escort you to Hogsmeade.

“I hardly think we need an _escort_ , Nev,” Harry protested.

Neville smiled tightly. “Actually, Harry, after your performance lately, I rather think you do. Dismissed.” He turned back to his desk and the stacks of paperwork waiting there, and McGonagall ushered Harry and Draco from his office.

* * *

“Quite a performance” rasped a quiet voice behind him.

Neville turned, smirking, to Snape’s portrait, which was regarding him with a sort of incredulous pride. He stopped to savor that expression for a moment, letting it wash away some of the remembered sting of the scorn he’d received as Snape’s student. “Why, thank you,” he said, sketching a small bow. “Should I try out for the play, do you think? The part of the friar, maybe?”

Snape snorted. “Hardly. You’re not _that_ good.”

Neville winked at him, then pointedly turned his back. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered.


	45. Apologies

_Thursday, January 11, 2018_

McGonagall left them in the entryway of the girls’ house, shaking her head and muttering about being “too old for this.” Harry remembered that Teddy was taking over her job; that she was retiring at the end of the year. He couldn’t imagine it, somehow. Most of the people he remembered from his time at Hogwarts were gone, yes, but… McGonagall was different. She seemed essential, somehow, to the very existence of the school, as if without her it would crumble into dust. She was the linchpin - what would Hogwarts _be_ without Minerva McGonagall?

Then the girls appeared, ushering them into the library and depositing them into comfy chairs, with tea and biscuits, and Harry could no longer distract himself with thoughts of McGonagall.

Draco was there.

Draco was there, and Harry couldn’t escape him, this time.

Luna said something, and Harry turned to look at her, but his gaze froze as it passed over Draco. He looked _terrible._ Harry felt a sharp pang of guilt as he realized that he was the cause. He'd been trying to protect Draco - and himself, he supposed, if he was honest - not hurt him.

"Harry!" Luna exclaimed, exasperated. "Pay attention!"

"Sorry," he said, flushing slightly and squirming in his seat. He'd been trying. Really he had. But... Draco.

Draco was staring at him.

Draco flushed - _prettily_ , Harry's brain supplied - and looked away.

Then Harry noticed that everybody else was leaving.

"Wait," he said, frowning, "where are you going?"

Hermione sighed, Pansy snickered; Luna turned to regard him steadily. "That isn't the right question, Harry. It doesn't matter. The important thing, for you, is that you aren't going anywhere until you sort this out."

She winked slyly at them - which, coming from Luna, was worrying in itself - and slipped out the door, shutting it with a very solid-sounding click behind her.

Draco shot out of his seat and ran to the door - but no matter how he tugged on it, it didn't budge. "Spelled," he muttered. He pulled out his wand, shot several spells at the door in quick succession. Harry only recognized some of them.

Harry groaned, sinking lower in his seat and putting his hand over his eyes. "You won't be able to open it. Not if Hermione's had a hand in locking it."

Draco slumped to the floor, melting in a surprisingly graceful puddle where he stood. “Great,” he muttered, “just great.”

Harry shook himself, shoving the irrational jealousy away. “They’ll have locked us in here for a reason,” he said, cracking his knuckles as he thought. “Probably to force us to _talk things over_.”

“Would that be so bad?”

The quiet words knifed through him, forcing him to catch his breath. He paused in the act of stretching, arms frozen above his head.

Draco looked over at him, and his eyes widened as they flicked down Harry’s chest and then hastily away. “Well?”

“I - no. I suppose not.”

“Better than avoiding each other?” Draco’s tone was laced with bitterness.

Harry sighed. “Malfoy -“

“Look. Potter. Don’t worry about it, OK? Just go take a nap or something. I’ll let you know when they come back to let us out, or I figure out how to get us out.” He waved a hand dismissively at the couch, and Harry bristled.

“OK, one, I’m not going to take a nap just because you think I’ll be useless. Two, you’re not going to get us out - I recognize that spell. It’s Hermione’s secret locking spell, and no one has managed to break it yet - not Voldemort, not the Ministry, not even the Unspeakables. Luna did once, but I think she just guessed my passcode.”

Draco gave him an incredulous look, and he scratched his neck awkwardly. “Don’t give me that look; she’s actually quite brilliant, when she feels like it. And three,” Harry paused, slumping back into his seat and scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Three, they’re not coming back for us, Malfoy. Not until we sort this out.” He waved vaguely between them, still not sure exactly what “this” Luna was talking about.

Draco closed his eyes, then snapped them open to glare at him. “Wonderful. So, O Chosen One, since you’re so smart, what do we do?”

Harry let his head fall back against the back of the chair with a quiet thump and stared at the ceiling as if it would grant him patience. “We talk, Malfoy. We talk through all the things we’ve been dancing around, and we agree to pretend to get along for long enough that they let us out. Then we can go our separate ways and never speak again.”

“Oh.” Harry felt a tiny flicker of hope - _was that disappointment in Draco’s tone_? He didn’t let himself dwell on it, in case he was wrong. But he hoped he wasn’t.

“So,” he said, then paused. _Where on earth did he start?_

“So,” Draco agreed.

They stared at one another in silence for a moment, and then spent some time studying opposite walls. Harry lost his patience first.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“You admit it, then.” Draco’s tone was unreadable. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor; he’d just pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his chin on them. He was looking down, studying his shoes intently, and his hair, glinting like spun gold in the light of the fire, hung around his face, obscuring his features.

Harry sighed. “Yes, Malfoy. I _have_ been avoiding you.”

“But why?” Draco looked up, eyes blazing pools of liquid silver. His expression hovered somewhere between hurt and offended.

“Because…” Harry paused. _Why_ had _he been avoiding Draco?_ “Because of Zabini, I suppose,” he said quietly, running his hands through his hair again. “It’s just… We’d been getting on so well, and I was actually enjoying your company - when you weren’t being an insufferable prat - and then _he_ had to come and ruin it all.” His voice got smaller, the more he talked. It sounded awfully petty, when he said it out loud like this.

Draco stared at him. “Potter… I’m not the one who ran away.”

“I didn’t run away…” Except he had. Several times. Harry winced.

“Surely it wasn’t _just_ that Blaise was here?”

Harry sighed. He _really_ didn’t want to say this, but… “I… saw you together.”

Draco stared at him, puzzled, and looking mildly affronted. “When you say _together_ …”

“I came back here, the morning after the Christmas party,” Harry said, all in a rush. “I was going to apologize to Luna for running off like that, and it was early but she’s always been an early riser, but when I got here there was Blaise, sitting at the kitchen table, and then you came in, and then I… ran away again, I guess.”

Draco looked up at him, understanding and amusement dawning in his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Harry felt his face flush. “Who?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know exactly who Draco was talking about.

Draco gave him a knowing look, but humored him. “Blaise. He offered, but…”

“He’s gay, then?” Harry said carefully, not sure he wanted to spoil this strange moment of almost-getting-along.

“No,” Draco snorted. “He swings both ways, though he prefers girls.”

“But he wanted to sleep with you.” Harry didn’t realize until he’d said it how ridiculous it sounded. _Everyone_ wanted to sleep with Draco, as far as he could tell.

Draco snorted. “He wants to sleep with _everybody_. Well, maybe not Voldemort,” he said, pretending to consider.

Harry grinned despite himself and threw a cushion at him.

Draco snatched it out of the air and stretched out on the floor, stuffing it behind his head. And wasn’t _that_ a sight to behold - snooty pureblood Draco Malfoy, stretched out on the hardwood floor as if it was his bed.

“Honestly he’s a worse flirt than Luna,” Draco said, and Harry struggled to take his mind off wondering about the sheets Draco would prefer – silk, probably - and back to the conversation at hand.

“That’s who he slept with the other night, you know,” Draco added, after a brief pause.

“Luna?”

“Mmm. He’s always had a soft spot for her. Like I said, he offered, but I -“ He broke off with a frustrated sigh. “Anyway, I slept on the couch. He slept in her room.”

“But your boxers,” Harry said slowly, “they were matching. Slytherin green silk.” Not that he’d been looking, or anything.

“You saw my boxers? Oh, Merlin. That means you saw me in Luna’s old bathrobe. Wow. That’s embarrassing.”

Harry coughed, “Boxers?”

“Right. _Slytherin_ green. We all had them.” He shrugged. “I always liked them.”

“Your whole house had matching boxers.” Harry stared at him incredulously.

“Yes?”

“Did you have parties where you all wore them or something?” Harry asked, half-joking. Draco looked away, but didn’t say anything. “You did!” Harry exclaimed. “ _Merlin_.”

“What, you mean you Gryffindors didn’t?” Draco raised one pale brow, grinning impishly.

Harry snagged another cushion and threw it at him.

Draco was just about to throw it back when there was a quiet snick from the door, and Luna slipped in, smiling sweetly. “Oh, good. That was much faster than we expected. You may as well come and join us - we’re trying to decide what to have for dinner.”

Draco gave him a _look_ as they entered the kitchen, and tilted his head toward Blaise. Harry sighed, but went obediently to stand beside him. “So, er, Zabini,” he said grudgingly, “it seems I owe you an apology.”

Blaise flashed a predatory grin at him. “Hey, don’t worry about me - Draco’s the one you should be apologizing to.”

Draco, who had moved to stand behind them, hissed “Blaise!”

Harry frowned. There was clearly more there than Draco was telling him, but he would take what he could get. For now. He turned to Draco. “I’m sorry for making assumptions and acting like an idiot.”

“Come now,” Blaise encouraged, slapping him on the back, “you can do better than that!”

“What?” Harry asked, confused and a little annoyed.

“You can at least take him to dinner,” Blaise said, a calculating look in his eye.

“Er,” Harry said, trying to work out what Blaise was playing at, “yeah, Ok. Sure.”

“Wonderful!” said Luna brightly, “We’ll all go.”

Harry looked away from Blaise just in time to see Draco shoot Luna a relieved smile. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not, but he didn’t seem to have much of a choice.

* * *

Dinner was fun, in the end, and he quite enjoyed himself. He and Draco walked back to Hogwarts together, not saying much, but not wrapped in spiky silence either.

“That was fun,” Harry said, as they turned down the hall to their rooms.

Draco grinned at him. “It was. Thank you. _Romeo_.”

Harry swiped at him, but Draco ducked into his room, laughing. Harry let himself into his own room, and thought about the strange - but pleasant - evening while getting ready for bed. He realized, as he drifted on the edge of sleep, that he was still smiling.

 


	46. Boxer Parties

_Friday, January 12, 2018_

Draco woke with a smile on his lips, that quickly morphed into a worried grimace as he began to convince himself it had all been a dream. _Oh, please let it not have been a dream_! He repeated it in his head, like a mantra, while getting ready for the day, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth until it was chapped and ragged - something he’d not done since he was a boy.

He bumped into someone as he left his room, and he apologized reflexively before looking up and into - the blazing green eyes of Harry bloody Potter.

Draco cringed away from the hatred he expected to see in those eyes, and it took him a few seconds to realize that it _wasn’t_ there. Harry smiled tentatively and held out his hand. “Malfoy? Are you all right?”

Draco’s pulse quickened as he hesitated, then clasped those warm, dry fingers for just a moment in his own. “Yes. Thank you, Potter - Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, and his smile broadened. “If you like. Draco.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, with silly little grins. Then Draco shook himself and straightened his robes awkwardly. “Well. Right. Um. I - “

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this articulate? Come on, Draco. I’m off to breakfast. Walk with me?”

“I, er.”

“Oh, come on. You’re going there too. Are you really going to insist that we walk on opposite sides of the hall, or behind one another, ignoring each other?

“No,” he snorted, “not when you put it that way.”

“Good.” Harry looked incredibly pleased with himself. “I have a question for you, anyway,” he said, as he fell easily into step with Draco’s long strides. “We’re studying Red Caps today, and I seem to recall you being better than anyone else at defeating them. Willing to share your secrets?”

Draco studied him, trying to figure out what Harry wanted. He’d handled his own Red Cap just fine. “Possibly. What’s in it for me?”

Harry flashed him a quicksilver grin. “Hmm. Depends. I’ve an idea for the play, but I need your help to carry it off.”

* * *

_Sunday, January 21, 2018_

“What are we doing here, again?”

Draco shrugged. “Picking up something for the play for the girls. I wasn’t really paying much attention. Why?”

Harry scuffed his toe on the ground, not meeting Draco’s eye. “Only, the salesgirl keeps giving me funny looks…”

Draco snorted. “She’s probably just overawed at meeting a childhood hero and wants your autograph.”

“No, something tells me that’s not it.”

Draco looked curiously at the girl, who was whispering intently to her friend, both of them sneaking glances at them and giggling. Oh. _Oh. Merlin._

* * *

_Saturday, February 3, 2018_

“You hold on to that one, dear. He’s a keeper!” Draco felt himself flush, and hurriedly paid the shopkeeper, nearly knocking someone over in his rush to get out of the shop.

“Draco?” Harry looked up, startled, as Draco nearly barreled past him.

“Yeah. You got it?”

Harry nodded, looking puzzled.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.”

“Um, Draco?” Harry asked, as they headed back to the girls’ house.

“Yes?”

“Why were you in such a hurry to leave?”

Draco shrugged. “No reason, really. Just hungry. Come on. You know how Blaise is about tea.”

Harry looked as if he were about to say something else, but closed his mouth, frowning.

* * *

_Saturday, February 10, 2018_

“So, I have a question about these boxer parties,” Harry said, waving his cup to get the group’s attention.

They were at the Three Broomsticks, that evening, enjoying steaming mugs of chocolate after a hearty meal, and putting off venturing out into the frigid winter air.

Draco dropped his head into his hands.

“Draco!” Pansy shrieked, “You _didn’t_ tell him about the boxer parties!”

“Er,” Draco said, refusing to look up. He knew they were all laughing. He could feel the table vibrating with it.

“Oh, come now, Pansy,” Blaise said, deep voice ringing over the girls’ hysterical laughter. “I’m quite fond of the old boxer parties. Been feeling rather nostalgic for ‘em of late, as it happens. I think I’d like to hear Draco’s rendition.”

“But, Blaise!” Astoria giggled, “They’re secret for a reason!”

“Yes, well. I mean, look at us. We’re most of us Slytherin, anyway, or dating one. And it’s not like we’re in school anymore - surely it can’t hurt.”

Draco groaned.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry wheedled. “Please?”

“Ugh. Fine. Whatever. I’m going to kill you Blaise, see if I don’t.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “Right. Well. Where shall I start.”

“At the beginning?” Ginny suggested helpfully.

Draco snorted. “Yes, yes, Weaselette, well done.”

“You do recall that I’m dating your ex-wife, and am probably not the best person to insult?”

“Er.” He actually had forgotten, for a moment.

She smiled at him, a smile that had far too many teeth. “As I’m feeling rather nostalgic myself, and rather liked that nickname, truth be told, I’ll give you a pass. This time.” She examined her nails, painted a deep blood-red. “Go on, then. Before we all perish of boredom.”

He glared at her, but decided not to pick a fight. “I don’t know how it started,” he said, clearing his throat and pitching his voice lower, nodding his thanks to Pansy as she cast a discrete _muffliato_ over their table, “or when, but it was already a tradition, when we were in Slytherin. Once a term, the seventh-years would organize a party and invite the fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-years. We would wake up one morning to an intricately folded note, elaborately penned in emerald-green ink, inviting us to a party in the common room that night, at two in the morning. With the note, that first morning, was a pair of Slytherin green silk boxers, and a post-script informing us that the party would have a dress-code - the enclosed boxers, and nothing else.”

“The girls too?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

Pansy giggled. “Yes. Well, and a bra, of course. We weren’t complete libertines, Potter, no matter what you might have thought.”

“Ahem,” Draco said, annoyed at the interruption. “As I was saying, the party was to start at two, long past the bedtime of even the most insomniac first- though third-years. Snape helped with that, too - it wouldn’t do for the littles to go blabbing it about. They each got a tiny drop of sleeping draught in their hot chocolate that night; just enough to send them peacefully off to sleep well before the night’s festivities.”

“Hot chocolate?” Harry interrupted to ask, and Draco noted with some surprise that he hadn’t batted an eye at the revelation that Snape gave sleeping draughts to the littles, and, in true Harry fashion, chose to question something else.

“We Slytherins take our chocolate _very_ seriously,” Astoria put in, holding up her steaming mug of cocoa. “That’s one of the duties of Head of House, you know. Providing the nightly cup of chocolate.”

Harry stared at Draco. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been sending your students off to bed with _Hot Chocolate_ all year?”

“Er, yes?” Draco didn’t really see the problem with that. It wasn’t like the little buggers were going to get tooth decay. But it seemed that Harry wasn’t going to take offense at it after all. He slumped a little, instead, scrubbing at his face.

“Merlin. I really _have_ been a terrible Head of House. I don’t think I’ve even properly greeted half of them.”

Draco stared at him in surprise, but didn’t quite know how to articulate his firm belief that Harry could never be anything but a fabulous Head of House - or would be, once they figured out the mess between them. Thankfully, he didn’t have to

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny said fondly, “you know that’s not true. Even James - who is _not_ happy at all with you, as you might have guessed - admits that you’re more effective at keeping them in line and making sure they’re OK than he expected. And his cousins agree. They give you a hard time, but they think you’re doing a decent job. And with a bit more time and practice, I think you’ll be really great. And I’m not the only one.”

Harry smiled faintly at her, accepting the sentiment - if not the content - of her reassurance. “Thanks, Gin.”

“Ahem,” Blaise said, instantly drawing their attention with his almost magnetic presence, “we’ve gotten off-track. Draco?”

Draco smiled gratefully at him. “Indeed. Once the littles were safely in bed, Snape would take his bribe - a bottle of the finest firewhisky and a selection of chocolates from an exclusive Patisserie in Paris, and retire to his quarters with a book, leaving the common room empty for the events to follow.”

“At two, precisely, all of the upper years would make their way to the common room. The seventh-years would set warming charms, and provide wine, cheese, and chocolate. They would transfigure the common room floor into a giant fluffy mattress - no, Harry we did not have an orgy, so get that look off your face right now - dotted with pillows and blankets that were so soft it was like being wrapped in a cloud. Then we’d all lounge around and grumble about our love lives and chat with the mermaids until dawn.”

Pansy coughed, and Draco sighed. “Yes, Pans? What is it?”

“Well, you’ve left out a _very_ important detail, darling.”

“And that would be?”

“Why, that while we were all grumbling about our love lives, or fantasizing about our crushes, _you_ ranted about Harry, here.”

Draco felt himself blushing. “Pansy!”

“It’s true!” Astoria put in, laughing. “You wouldn’t shut up, no matter how many people complained. We finally had to forbid you to mention Harry’s name - and even then it took some pretty dark magic to get even a few _Potter_ -free hours.”

Draco closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I’m hurt, Pansy, Tori. Why would you betray me like this?”

Harry snickered.

“Don’t be so quick to laugh, Harry,” Granger said, tone laced with a dark amusement that had Draco staring at her before he knew he’d moved. “We had to ban you from the Gryffindor parties, remember?”

“You had boxer parties, too?” Pansy asked, eyes gleaming avidly.

Granger snorted. “Not exactly. We just wore our pajamas. But otherwise it was pretty similar. Well, except that we played games - truth-or-dare, and exploding snap, and strip poker, once. We drank whatever Seamus could smuggle in - butterbeer, more often than not - and ate sandwiches and treacle tarts from the kitchens.”

Pansy snorted. “Heathens,” she said fondly, placing a kiss on Granger’s forehead.

“Why did you have to ban Harry from the parties?” Draco found himself asking, quite against his will.

Granger flashed him a sly grin that told him she’d been waiting for him to ask. “Because he wouldn’t shut up about you, Draco.”

 _Oh._ He looked at Harry, to see that his face had gone very red, indeed. _Oh_.

“We had parties in Ravenclaw, too,” Luna said, startling Draco, who’d quite forgotten she was there. “They weren’t quite so interesting as those, though.”

“What did you do?” he asked, curious about what the eccentric brainiacs did for fun. He didn’t look away from Harry, whose face was returning to its normal sun-kissed bronze, though the tips of his ears were still very red.

 _“_ Oh, lots of things. We had themes, you see. Sometimes we all played our musical instruments, and sometimes we read poetry. Once, we turned the floor of our common room into a giant canvas and tied ropes to the rafters. That was my favorite. We all took turns swinging across the room, splattering the canvas with buckets of paint. It was lovely.” She sighed wistfully, and Draco smiled.

“I wonder what Hufflepuff parties are like?” said Ginny idly. They all looked at one another. “Orgies,” they said, all at once, and dissolved into helpless laughter.

“Oh, I hope not,” Astoria said, eyes bright with suppressed laughter. “Or we’re going to have to have words with Scorpius.” Draco groaned, and so did Harry.

“We’ll have to ask them in a few years,” Ginny said thoughtfully, “though, knowing them, they’ll be too wrapped up in books and each other to even notice.”

Draco pretended not to notice the looks everyone sent him and Harry, or the tentative brush of Harry’s fingers beneath the table. But when that soft touch was repeated, he curled his fingers around Harry’s, holding them against his thigh. He thought the others were teasing them about their mutual obsession, but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t focus on anything but the soft, warm press of fingers against his own, of the pulse he could feel that matched the frantic fluttering of his own heart. He rather suspected that Harry didn’t hear the ribbing either.

* * *

_Sunday, February 11, 2018_

_“_ You’ve all grown up to be such lovely witches and wizards,” gushed Madam Malkin, as they prepared to leave her shop, several galleons lighter and several pounds of fabric heavier. “Especially you, dears.” She patted Harry and Draco’s arms as she handed them their bags. “I remember that first day, when you were both here being fitted. Oh, yes, don’t look so surprised, dears. I may not have said anything at the time, but I knew who you were. And I’m so very glad you’ve managed to get past your differences and schoolboy rivalry.” She smiled up at them, aged face crinkling around laughing, still-sharp eyes, and lowered her voice. “You’re the talk of the town, you know. Rumor is you’re the favorite for ‘cutest couple’ this year.”

“But I - we - we’re not -“ Draco spluttered.

She put one pudgy finger beside her nose and winked at them, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Of course, dear, of course. Go on then, off with you - your friends are waiting, and it’s quite nippy out today.”

Draco turned mechanically and headed for the door, not even sure if Harry was following. But he had to get out of that stuffy, peppermint-scented shop and into the fresh air. He took several deep breaths, pushing away the nausea. She didn’t know that they _were_ a couple, once. No one did - not even Harry. He remembered, of course, as if it were yesterday, but — He sighed. It was lonely, being the only person in the world to know something like that. He was so fucking tired of it.

“Well,” he joked, as Harry stepped silently up beside him, “I guess we must make convincing friends, if people mistake us for a couple.”

Harry sighed. “Would it be so bad?” he asked wistfully. Draco stood frozen, watching Harry force a smile. “Never mind. Come on - it’s bloody cold out.” He turned and strode off, and Draco could only stare.

Because, _fuck_ , Blaise was right. Harry _did_ want him. But he deserved to know the truth of what they were. Even if it meant he wouldn’t want Draco anymore, after.

He strode after Harry, thinking fast. By the time he overtook him, shamelessly exploiting his longer legs, he’d decided.

“All right.”

Harry turned to glance sidelong at him, amused. “All right, what? I wasn’t aware we were having a conversation. Have you mistaken me for one of your invisible friends?”

“Ha, bloody ha. I mean all right, we can try it.”

Harry jerked to a stop. “Sorry, what? Try - what, exactly?”

Draco waved his gloved hand impatiently between them. “You. Me. Us.”

Harry’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “Articulate.”

“Shut up.”

“So…”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Must I do everything? Fine. Meet me Wednesday night at eight. On top of the Astronomy tower.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Valentine’s day?”

Draco felt himself flush. “If you’d rather —“

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I’ll… see you then.”

“Indeed.” Draco said softly, as Harry grinned at him. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

_Wednesday, February 14, 2018_

Draco paced the top of the Astronomy tower, nerves writhing and congealing in his stomach. _He’s not going to show. He’s going to stand me up, the git._ He cast a _tempus_ , hardly able to control his shaking fingers enough to make the proper wand movement. 8:01. He continued pacing. At 8:03 he decided to give Harry two more minutes. At 8:04, Harry burst through the door, searching frantically for Draco. Harry’s entire body relaxed when they locked eyes, and Draco tried to suppress his smile. “You’re late,” he said.

“Sorry,” Harry blurted. “I was getting these.”

He pulled a bag from behind his back, that looked to contain chocolates and a bottle of wine. Draco made a mental note to thank Astoria later, for suggesting his favorite kind. Then he produced a single red rose, smiling sheepishly as he twirled it between his fingers.

Draco smiled at him, noting with some surprise that Harry’s clothes - new, by the looks of them - suited him much better than what he usually wore, and that his hair was neater than Draco had ever seen it. It was obvious that he’d put quite a bit of effort into his appearance, and Draco let the last of his annoyance go. “You look nice,” he said, and Harry blushed.

“I - the girls helped, with the clothes. They thought you’d like them.”

Draco smiled, feeling on much surer footing. “I do. They suit you.” He circled Harry, smiling predatorily at him. “You do clean up nicely, you know.”

But when Harry leaned closer, making to kiss him, Draco took him by the shoulders and gently pushed him away.

“What —“ Harry stared at him, hurt and confusion writ large on his face.

Draco smiled, a soft, sad smile. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, Harry - _Merlin,_ you don’t even know how much - but I need to tell you something first.”

Harry frowned. “Oh, Draco, it’s OK - you don’t have to —“

Draco cut him off, pressing a long, pale finger to Harry’s lips. “Shh. I do.” He took a deep breath, taking a moment to savor the expression on Harry’s face, so open and trusting. “Harry,” he said gently. “I lied to you.


	47. Obliviate!

_Wednesday, February 14, 2018_

Harry climbed the stairs to the astronomy tower, his stomach a churning mess of dread and anticipation, a swarm of butterflies trying desperately to claw their way out of a yawning black hole. He was late, but he couldn’t force his feet to move any faster.

He kept himself from running his hand through his carefully tamed hair with effort, not keen to ruin all the effort before Draco had even seen it. The new clothes, selected that afternoon by the combined style efforts of Ginny, Astoria, Pansy, Hermione and Blaise - Luna’s selections being unanimously outvoted every time - itched and chafed uncomfortably, and most importantly felt… foreign. He missed his worn jeans and jumpers and falling-apart trainers; the man in his mirror just a few minutes ago, who’d stared back at him dazedly in tailored pants, fitted shirt, and polished shoes, hadn’t been familiar. He regretted submitting to the others’ opinions - they could pull off such stylish clothes, but… he couldn’t. He wasn’t anyone important, anymore. Just Harry. And Just Harry felt like an impostor in these clothes that would much better have suited Blaise. Or Draco.

He wished for just a touch of the elegant poise that Draco wore so effortlessly. Unfortunately, Just Harry only knew how to slouch.

They’d tried, giving him tips and pointers and crash courses in posture until his head was spinning. He couldn’t remember any of it now. It had all flown out of his head the moment his fancy new shoes had touched the first step, at the base of the astronomy tower. Because this was it.

Draco was up there, with his elegance and his grace, and Just Harry knew - _knew -_ he was deluding himself to even think he had a chance. Wasn’t he?

The past few weeks, where he and Draco had settled into a comfortable routine of bickering and teasing jibes, had been so pleasant. Merlin, he’d missed their banter, all these years. Ginny was witty, but her wit was all sharp edges and barbed points. Harry wasn’t any good at the sort of repartee she preferred. But Draco’s snide, spiky banter… _that_ , he could do.

It had been nice, running errands with Draco. When his sly remarks hadn’t been at Harry’s expense, he’d actually found them quite funny. And no one had even batted an eye, at seeing the former Death Eater and former Chosen One together. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be allowed to move on from that, to have his own life, but it had happened quite without his knowing it.

It had thrown him, the moment he realized that, far from being upset to see them together, everyone had assumed they were, well, _together._ And thought they were cute. It was endearing and infuriating all at once, to have people assume they were together when it was all Harry wanted but didn’t think he could ever have.

His steps slowed further as he neared the middle of the tower, the warring desires to run forward and back nearly evenly matched. He paused, halfway between one step and another, and reminded himself to breathe.

 _It’s really happening._ He still couldn’t quite believe that it wasn’t a dream, or some incredibly elaborate prank. He fumbled in his pockets for the folded piece of parchment, juggling the bag of chocolates and wine the girls had recommended, and the single red rose, all his own idea, that he’d bought on a whim when he went to pick up the chocolates.

The familiar words of Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs reassured him, as they always did, and though the ink was maybe a bit more faded than he recalled from his youth, the cheerful, irreverent greetings were just as he remembered. He felt a momentary pang of loss for those men, taken from him before he’d really had a chance to know them. He thought he probably would have liked them.

His eyes found Draco on the map immediately, through long years of practice; he was there already, of course, pacing methodical circuits around the astronomy tower roof, and it eased some of Harry’s anxiety to know that Draco was nervous, too. Smiling faintly, he refolded the map, carefully tucking it back into his pocket, then threw back his shoulders and rushed up the remaining steps, anxious to get this - whatever this turned out to be - over with.

He drew in a sharp breath as he burst through the door and Draco’s silver eyes snapped to his, luminous in the moonlight. The worry lines around those eyes eased, and the scowl was replaced by a soft smile.

“You came.”

Harry smiled. “Yes.” He walked steadily forward, surer, now, on his feet.

* * *

_“Harry,” he said gently, “I lied to you.”_

It took a moment for those words to sink in - they were so different than what he’d expected. Draco had lied to him… about what? This? Everything? He knew the pain and confusion he felt showed clearly in his eyes, because Draco flinched and looked away.

Then he turned back, more fire in his eyes than Harry had ever seen. He didn’t even notice the wand sweeping up until it was pointed right between his eyes. Draco stared at him for a long moment, expression closed, unreadable, then shouted “ _Memento!”_

Harry’s memories came rushing back: one by one, at first, then a trickle, then a stream, then a deluge that threatened to wash him away. His hands, clenched around the bag and rose, spasmed and came up to claw frantically at his head, trying to stem the tide of memory. He sank to his knees, overwhelmed; distantly, he heard the bottle shatter on the stones.

They had been so _happy_. _He_ had been so happy.

That happiness he’d craved with Ginny and never found; all those years of wanting something he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to find. He’d _had_ it. And Draco had taken it from him.

They had been together for _months_. All those years of rivalry and hostility had come to a head, during the Triwizard Tournament, and sparked something neither of them had been able to deny. They’d begun with clandestine meetings, in secret corners and darkened alcoves, and watching the stars late at night on top of the astronomy tower. They’d graduated to midnight picnics on the shore of the lake, and under the watchful trees at the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Then they’d found the small, abandoned room, in the Room of Requirement, and claimed it as their own. With the map and the cloak, it had been easy to meet there more often, stay for longer. His friends were increasingly occupied in other things, in each other; the lies that tripped off Harry’s tongue, on the rare occasion he was questioned, came easier each day.

They kept coming, the memories, more and more, flashing by so fast he could scarcely keep up. Then the flood slowed, and he sank into another, more recent memory.

* * *

_Friday, October 11, 1996_

“It’ll never _work_ , Harry!” Draco prowled around the small, hidden room they’d made their own over the last months, like a lion in a cage. Harry felt a fierce upwelling of pride for this Draco, the one no one else ever got to see. The one who _cared_ so deeply. He swung his feet idly as his eyes tracked Draco’s circuits around the room.

“It might,” he offered, just to keep Draco talking. Draco spun to face him, eyes flashing. Harry felt a physical pull as he looked into his lover’s eyes, as if they were connected by more than just their mutual attraction. “You know it - I know you do,” Draco growled. “I can see it in your eyes. See you fighting it. Don’t. Just accept it. We were never meant to be together, Harry - we knew that from the start.”

“No.”

“Harry!” Draco stopped before him, exasperated, leaning down to look deeply into Harry’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, I lose. If my side wins, I won’t be able to save you. If yours does, you won’t be able to save me. Don’t you see?”

Harry set his jaw. “I will.”

“You stubborn, beautiful bastard!” Draco pulled Harry up to stand in front of him, holding fiercely to his shoulders. “Look at me! Listen to me! What are you going to do? Waste your life pacing outside a jail cell? Fritter your money and fame away trying to get me pardoned? It’s too late for me, Harry. I’m already marked.”

Draco grabbed the sleeve of the robe he’d recently donned, ripped it savagely open to reveal the Dark Mark marring his beautiful skin, glared at it. “I’m a dead man walking.”

Harry leaned down, kissed the inky lines that he knew Draco loathed being forced to take. “I’ll fight.”

Draco choked back a strangled sob. “Yes. You’ll fight. At first. Look at me, Harry.” He grabbed Harry’s chin, forcing his eyes up to meet Draco’s, flashing with suppressed emotion. “Do you really think the Weasleys will accept me? _Me,_ Harry? A Death Eater —“

“Not by choice,” Harry said softly, but Draco ignored him.

“A Death Eater, long past redemption - in place of their lovely, shining, heroic daughter? No. Of course not. _She’s_ your future, Harry.”

He scowled. “I don’t love her.”

“You do. Oh, not like you love me, maybe. Not like you _think_ you love me. But you will. You two fit, Harry. You and I –” his voice cracked, but he soldiered on, “you and I never did.”

Draco looked down, and now it was Harry who forced eye contact, Harry’s eyes that flashed dangerously.

“Yes. We. Do.”

“No,” Draco smiled at him, a twisted, bitter thing that could hardly be called a smile at all. “If we ever had a chance, then we missed it. I’ve made my peace with it - you should too.”

“Never.”

“I won’t let you throw away your future! I’m _not worth it_ , Harry.”

“You are!” Harry grabbed a fistful of Draco’s robe, started to haul him in for a kiss, but Draco planted his heels and held him at arm’s length.

“No. And you know it, too. Deep down, where you won’t admit it. But can you tell me, for sure, that you’ll still think it’s worth it, five years from now? Ten? I’ll lose you anyway. Better on my own terms.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “What are you saying, Draco?”

“This.” Harry stumbled as Draco abruptly stopped pushing him away, pulled him in for a frantic, bone-crushing embrace and bruising kiss. When Draco stepped back, eyes closed, Harry felt tears on his cheeks that weren’t his own. He touched them, frowning, as Draco looked up, smoothly raising his wand.

“Goodbye, Harry. _Obliviate!”_

* * *

Harry blinked, looking around frantically. He didn’t know where he was.

“What - who - _Malfoy!_ What did you do to me, Malfoy?”

Malfoy held up his empty hands, eyes curiously bright. “Nothing. I did nothing.”

Harry glared. “You’d better not have! You know I’ll kill you!”

Malfoy closed his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was flat, emotionless. “Yes, Potter. I know.”

“Wh—“

Malfoy inclined his head in a small nod, turned on his heel, and strode out the door.

And then Harry was spinning.

* * *

_Wednesday, February 14, 2018_

Harry came back to himself, kneeling on the cold stones at the top of the astronomy tower, staring at Draco’s boots.

They’d been so _happy_. And then Draco - no, _Malfoy -_ had ripped that happiness away from him.

He looked up at Draco, his customary masks scattered around them on the ground, empty of everything but raw emotion and betrayal. Draco had finally managed to break him - break him as no one else ever had, not even Voldemort.

He turned his face away, staring blindly out into the night sky, and croaked out “Why?” Even his voice was hoarse, broken.

Draco reached hesitantly out to touch him, but Harry flinched away from the touch. Draco drew his fingers sharply back as if they’d been burned and hid them behind his back; he didn’t reach out again.

“I had to,” he whispered. “I had to protect you. We’d never have been able to hide what we were, once I was forced to join the ranks of the Death Eaters.”

“But _why?_ Why did you have to? Why couldn’t we have just… just run away?” But Harry’s voice was small, defeated. He knew why.

Draco answered anyway. “Because I had no choice. Because it was the path laid out for me since before I was born. Because it was the only way I knew how to fight for you.” He sighed heavily. “Because while I might have been able to disappear - what was one more Death Eater’s kid, in the grand scheme of things? - You didn’t have that option. Because no matter how much I needed you, the world needed you more. Because I knew that it was the only way that you’d stop fighting your destiny.”

Harry didn’t look up at him. “I can’t… I… I have to go. I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

He rose abruptly to his feet and bolted back down the tower stairs, leaving the ruined wine and chocolate where it lay. He didn’t look back.


	48. Every Rose Has Its Thorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: TRIGGER WARNING - SUICIDE ATTEMPT! I'm so sorry I forgot to add this you guys. Eek.

_Wednesday, February 14, 2018_

Draco closed his eyes, Harry’s words echoing around the inside of his skull, around the empty space in his chest where he thought his heart might once have been.

_Well. That went well._

He’d known this would happen, of course, the same way he’d known what he had to do, all those years ago. He knew that Harry would never be able to forgive him. It didn’t matter what Draco’s reasons were - he’d still hurt him, hurt him worse than anyone else ever had, in a life spent bumbling from one hurt to another.

The breeze picked up, teasing the edges of his hair and investigating the hem of his robe, setting it gently flapping. A stray scrap of parchment skittered across the stones. Draco could smell snow on the breeze, cold and damp, with a hint of leaf mold from the forest. The scent of the wine - a good vintage, one of his favorites - and rich chocolate wafted up to him, along with…

Draco knelt, careful to keep the hem of his robe from trailing in the creeping pool of wine, and picked up the rose.

It was perfect, soft as velvet, and a red so rich it looked almost black in the moonlight. Its fragrance was sweet and dark, almost magical. He rose smoothly to his feet, idly stroking the frilled edge of its petals.

He’d hesitated so long in returning Harry’s memories because of this. Because it didn’t matter that it had happened 20 years ago. He’d never fully dealt with the grief or the burning, aching hole in his chest that had always - _always_ \- belonged to Harry. And it hurt. _Merlin_ , but it hurt. Draco was honestly not sure he would survive it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

These last few weeks with Harry had been more than he had hoped for. Even with all the tension, the layers of hurt and anger, Harry had been a friend, almost. Draco couldn’t recall a time that he had ever been happier. Except… his brain shied away from the thought before it formed. To have that ripped away, even though it was his own fault, and he absolutely deserved it…

The wind grew bolder, sending the sleeves on his robes flapping. The temperature slid lower. Draco didn’t notice. He shifted the rose to his left hand, slipped his right into the inner pocket of his robe, fingers questing until they found the tiny vial. He smoothly drew it from his pocket and held it to the light.

The potion inside gleamed darkly. He shook the glass, just a fraction, and the viscous liquid sloshed, leaving an oily residue on the tapered glass.

He’d not meant to use it, tonight; hadn’t meant to take it from his storeroom at all. But he’d had to run back to his classroom to fetch some pepper-up, dreamless sleep, and extra-strength pain potions for Bones - as she’d tartly informed him she preferred to be called - on his way to get ready to meet Harry that evening.

She’d accosted him in the hall, scowling, demanding to know why he hadn’t sent them already, as she had nearly twenty third-years that had all come down with a new - thankfully far less lethal - strain of Dragon Pox. The fact that her request had gone awry had mattered not the least to the fearsome witch who had once been his classmate, and Draco had meekly agreed that he could bloody well fetch them now.

The store-room was a disaster - he’d made a mental note to assign it at the next detention he presided over - and it had taken much longer to find the bloody things than he had wanted to spend. Bones, of course, had snatched them from his hands as he emerged, brushing off the stray cobwebs clinging to his robes, to find her tapping her foot and scowling impatiently at the storeroom door.

He’d suggested, not altogether politely, that she could fetch her own bloody potions next time, and she’d had the gall to laugh at him. “If Snape didn’t manage to make me enter that storeroom in the five years he spent teaching us this benighted subject, do you really think _you’re_ going to be able to, Professor Malfoy?” She’d left then, shaking her head and laughing to herself, to tend the gaggle of third years tucked away in the infirmary.

Draco had glared at the door for several minutes after she’d flounced through it, and _hoped_ that she came down with Dragon Pox. Then he’d sighed and turned to go and get ready to meet Harry. It was pure chance that he’d noticed on the way out that the storeroom door hadn’t shut properly, and, as he didn’t want his students - or worse, _Peeves_ \- to get in there, he’d gone back to shut it. The vial, snugged up against the edge of the shelf nearest the door, had caught his eye as the candlelight glinted off the glass, and he’d absentmindedly reached out, plucked the bottle off the shelf, and tucked it into his pocket to examine later.

Maybe he had meant to use it, after all.

He studied it, now, detached, noting the oily sheen that indicated its potency. It wouldn’t take long. Wouldn’t hurt - well, not too much, anyway. Certainly not as much as watching the lines of Harry’s face hardening in hatred the next time their eyes chanced to meet. As watching from the shadows as Harry finally moved on.

He knew it would happen. It wasn’t like the school was big enough for them to successfully avoid one another forever - certainly not with their meddling exes around, poking their delicately freckled noses in where they didn’t belong.

And if he died in pain, well, it was better than living in pain, wasn’t it? At least it wouldn’t last long. And, anyway, he’d caused enough pain and suffering in his life. He didn’t deserve a painless death.

He nodded sharply, once, decided. He took a long, shuddering breath, blew it out slowly, watching the faint puff of steam as it hit the now-frigid air. He reached up, brushed a few stray strands of hair off his forehead; his fingers came away faintly damp, with tiny crystalline snowflakes clinging to them, but he hardly noticed, too caught up in memory.

He’d stopped gelling his hair for Harry, after he’d remarked idly, one morning that Draco had been running too late to take the time for even that much primping, that it looked much nicer that way; he’d never been able to bring himself to start again. He remembered Harry’s sturdy fingers, carding through his hair; fancied he could feel those fingers reach out of his memories, ghost silkily through the blonde strands, feather-light. His lips parted involuntarily; the rose fell from his trembling fingers to land soundlessly on the stones at his feet.

He slid the stopper out of the vial, the movement achingly slow. He held it for a moment, as he looked up at the sky, staring into the inky blackness dotted with stars that shimmered in the icy air. The moon shone pearly-bright, cold and unforgiving. He let the stopper fall from his fingers, raised the vial in a toast to his memories, the ghosts of his past.

“Cheers, Harry,” he whispered. Then he brought it to his lips. The glass rim was smooth and cold, impersonal against his lips. He wrinkled his nose at the astringent herb-y smell, tossed the contents back in one smooth motion. He swallowed quickly, before his gag reflex could kick in. He had a few seconds to worry that it wouldn’t work, and then the world tilted sideways.

Everything seemed suddenly fuzzy and far away, and he blinked, slowly, watching the colors run and fade as the buzzing in his ears intensified, hammering relentlessly at his nerves. Distantly, he felt himself fall to his knees, then slump sideways onto the chilled stones. Then everything faded to black.


	49. Just Like Every Night Has Its Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that last cliffhanger!

_Thursday, February 22, 2018_

Draco was drifting. Bobbing and floating in a sea of inky darkness. Then the darkness began to lighten, fade into gray. He was surrounded by mist, an impenetrable fog. All around him was a quiet susurration, gradually intensifying. The gray faded to white, and the murmurs became a roar, and then the light turned brilliant, blinding, and he began to perceive movement.

The blurry shapes slowly resolved; color bled back into the world. He began to distinguish voices within the roar. He faded in and out, sometimes floating, sometimes besieged by light, movement, sound. He wondered if he were dead, why death was beginning to seem disturbingly familiar, worryingly like life.

* * *

_Friday, February 23, 2018_

Some time later, he realized that this must be life, after all, and that he could now add failing to kill himself to the string of failures that defined his miserable life.

Slowly, resignedly, he opened his eyes.

Harry slumped in a chair by his… he looked down. Hospital bed. Infirmary bed, he corrected, as he blinked slowly at his surroundings and his sluggish brain identified them as the Hogwarts infirmary.

So. Not dead, then.

Harry.

Harry, it seemed, was asleep, which explained the slumping. What it didn’t explain was why he was here. With Draco. Why he looked like hell.

Draco frowned at him. Harry’s face, though somewhat relaxed in sleep, was still drawn and pale. Dark shadows lurked under his eyes and stained his skin like bruises. His hair was lank, his clothing rumpled. His forehead was creased with wrinkles, and from the prominence of his cheekbones and the birdlike frailty of his wrist, flung across Draco’s blanket in sleep, Draco was pretty sure he’d lost weight.

For that matter, he felt thinner himself. Draco plucked idly at the collar of his thin cotton hospital gown, worrying his lip between his teeth. How long had he been here?

He looked up, directly into green eyes that went from shadowed and sleep-fogged to blazing in an instant. Draco’s breath caught, and he wondered if Harry had spent the past however-long-it-had-been waiting for Draco to wake simply so he could kill him himself.

He watched as Harry’s eyes cleared, as the fog of sleep burned away, as shock and then anger trickled in to replace it.

He flinched and looked down. He deserved that, he supposed.

“Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy!” Harry hissed. Draco winced. “Do you have any idea what it would have done to me, if I hadn’t found you in time?”

“How - how did you know to find me?” he asked, wondering why Harry had bothered.

Harry waved a familiar piece of folded parchment in front of his face. “With this, you blithering idiot! I went back for you - did you really think I wouldn’t? To find you, after I’d sat by the lake for a while, thinking. You didn’t answer your door, you weren’t in your classroom; no one in Slytherin had seen you. It took me ages to think of checking the map, and then, when I saw your name flickering in and out on that frozen rooftop in a way I’d never seen before… What the hell were you thinking? How could you give me back my memories of what we were to each other - what we _are_ to each other - and then take that away again?

 _Are_? Draco’s breath caught; the pain flared in his chest and his vision went dark around the edges.

“Draco! DRACO! Come back to me, dammit!”

The world swam back into view, and with it Harry, gripping Draco’s shoulders and staring frantically into his eyes. “ _Merlin_ , Draco, did you think I could live without you, now that I know that _you’re_ what I’ve been missing all these years? I love you, you great git! Don’t you _dare_ try to leave me again.”

“You l—“ Draco started to ask, dazed, sure he must be hallucinating, but he was cut off by Harry’s frantic embrace.

Draco pinched himself, just to be sure this was actually happening, just as Harry pulled back to look at him. His intent expression turned to one of confusion, and then Harry doubled over, laughing and crying at the same time. “Did you - _Merlin,_ Draco. Did you really just _pinch_ yourself?”

“Er, yes?”

He was saved from trying to explain by the clicking stride and stern “ _Ahem_ ” that signaled the arrival of Minerva McGonagall.

Draco blanched.

“Oh, do relax, Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “I’m not here to scold you - I’ve a feeling you’ve gotten enough of that from Mister Potter here.”

Harry, who’d managed to get his laughter under control, stared at the ground, cheeks flaming bright red.

She patted his shoulder fondly, peering sternly over her lenses at Draco. “Poppy says you’re stuck here for a while yet, Mister Malfoy. Be glad that you still retain the ability to get bored - you almost didn’t.”

He looked down, chastened. “My classes—“

She smiled down at him. “Well. At least you’re worried about your students, That’s something, anyway. They’re fine, Mister Malfoy, not to worry. Longbottom’s new Muggle Arts Professors are filling in for you, and doing a fine job of it, too. They seem to have even managed to rope Mister Zabini into helping them, though Merlin knows how they managed _that_.”

Draco relaxed back into the pillows, content with that. Between them, the girls and Blaise would be fine. They were all capable and smart, and while they hadn’t all excelled in potions like he had, they _were_ all competent.

He turned to Harry, then. “Why aren’t _you_ in class?”

Harry looked up sheepishly through his lashes. “Couldn’t concentrate.”

McGonagall rolled her eyes. “What Mister Potter means to say is that he didn’t even spare a thought for his students. He’s been here since he brought you in - it’s been over a week, in case he hasn’t thought to inform you.”

Draco frowned, looking back at Harry’s rumpled clothes. While it looked like he’d been wearing them for a while, they weren’t what he’d been wearing when he met Draco on the astronomy tower.

“I had to force him to get a change of clothes, but he really has spent the past week by your bedside, Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall said. She looked like she would have said more, but Madam Pomfrey bustled over then, trundling a cart heavily laden with a veritable rainbow of potions vials. Draco hoped they weren’t all for him.

“He threatened to use a permanent sticking charm on himself if I attempted to kick him out,” she said, shooing Harry off the edge of Draco’s bed and back into his chair.

She swept an armful of vials off the cart. “Now that you’re awake,” she said, handing him the first of them, “you can start on these. Bottoms up, now.” She replaced the empty vial in his hand with a new one as soon as he’d knocked it back.

While his mouth was occupied with swallowing potions, she scolded him. “Honestly, Mister Malfoy,” she said, replacing the empty vial in his hand - that had held a noxious yellow-green citrus-y potion - with one that held a turquoise potion that smelled of sulfur and emitted occasional soft pops, “if it hadn’t been so cold out that night, Harry wouldn’t have found you in time and there would have been absolutely nothing I could do. As it is, you’re not out of the clear yet, and I must insist that you remain here for observation and treatment for at least the next week. After that, _if_ I deem you well enough, I will allow you to return to your quarters if _and only if_ you understand that you are absolutely forbidden to do anything strenuous without checking with me - or Mister Potter, as he seems to have appointed himself guardian of your welfare - first. You’ve given us quite a scare, Mister Malfoy. I do hope you won’t do anything quite so foolish again.” She scowled at him, tapping her foot until he gave in and downed the final potion, which was gray and viscous and blobby and positively oozed down his throat. When he handed the vial back, gagging, slightly, Harry replaced it with a tall glass of water, and Draco smiled gratefully at him.

“I’ll be back to check on you in a bit, Mister Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey said, patting his shoulder gently as she and her cart trundled away.

“Hang on,” he said to Harry, as a thought came to him, “if you’ve been here with me, who’s been teaching _your_ classes?”

“The Muggle Arts Professors have _also_ taken over Mister Potter’s classes,” McGonagall said tartly, “and I am forced to conclude that they are a sight more capable than the both of you, of late.” She sighed, and the small smile returned to her face. “I’ll leave you now, Mister Malfoy. Mister Potter will fill you in on everything else.”

“You can go now, you know,” Draco said, once she was out of earshot. “I’ll be fine.” He picked anxiously at a loose thread on his blanket.

“Oh, no,” Harry said. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. The last time I left you alone, you tried to kill yourself. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me now. I’m not leaving your side until I’m certain you’ll still be there when I get back.”

Draco smiled tentatively up at him, felt the smile blossoming into something new and hopeful as Harry smiled back.

“I had a lot of time to think, this past week,” Harry said, “and while I’m still angry, and I still don’t agree with the choices you made, I do understand why you made them. But I can’t live without you, Draco - not again.”

He grabbed Draco’s hand, covering it with his, twining their fingers together on top of the blanket.

And for the first time in twenty years, Draco allowed himself to hope.

 


	50. The First Cut is the Deepest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left, you guys! This has been my most ambitious writing project yet, and thanks for coming along for the ride! To all of you that have read this fic from the beginning, and left me lovely comments - thank you. This has been such fun! 
> 
> The final chapter will post before Halloween. There will be several epilogue/follow-up one-shots but I don't know when exactly they will be ready. I will be participating in Nanowrimo for the month of November, working on the first draft of the second novel in my trilogy, so I won't be posting as much fic, though I will probably pop in with little one-shots occasionally. I have two new Drarry fics in the works that I will probably start posting in December or January. 
> 
> Oh, and if any of you are participating in nanowrimo as well and want to be writing buddies, I'm shilo1364 :-)

_Late February, 2018_

Harry sat beside Draco, peacefully sleeping, and watched the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. It was tentative, whatever it was they were doing, and slow, and Harry was grateful for the peace that Draco’s corner of the hospital wing offered.

Madam Pomfrey, after a bit of huffing and fussing, had moved them into a tiny room that she said had once been for students with illnesses and injuries requiring long-term care, though she’d only ever used it as a storage room. She’d been cheerful enough about it, especially after Harry had volunteered to do most of the work of clearing it out. He’d even found a few things she’d thought were lost, and so she was generally well-disposed toward them. Which was good, because Draco wasn’t ready to leave - so Harry wasn’t either.

And so they stayed, in their own private limbo, tucked away from the world. The room was small, and white, with no personality - it _had_ spent an awfully long time as a storage closet - but Harry brought in plants, and a few of Astoria’s photographs, and some of Al and Scorpius’ artwork to hang on the walls.

The girls came to visit them, when they weren’t teaching, and Al and Scorpius came, bringing their usual entourage. McGonagall even stopped in, from time to time, with biscuits and tea and tales of the students, and, if they were very lucky, tales of the past.

In a way, it was homier there than in his actual room.

He smiled down at Draco, running his fingers lightly through his silken hair. He loved this. The quiet moments spent watching Draco sleep. They neither of them slept as much as they ought, but it was easier, now. Together.

Draco shifted, throwing one arm across Harry’s chest and he smiled, even though Draco was crushing his arm and it was going numb. He wouldn’t move him for the world.

Draco frowned in his sleep, twitching a little, and whimpered softly. Harry resumed stroking his hair, shifting to a less awkward angle and freeing his other arm. As the blood returned to his fingers in a tingling rush, he thought about how lucky he was, and about how close he’d come to losing this before he’d even had it.

He shuddered softly as he remembered it: the cold, sucking, nauseous wash of betrayal, the overwhelming urge to run, as far and as fast as he could.

He’d made it as far as the lake before his panic-fueled strength had given out, and he’d fallen where he stood, sobbing. And then he’d sat there, staring over the lake, as the temperature dropped and the snow started falling.

He’d _hated_ Draco. Only he hadn’t.

Exhausted, he’d finally admitted defeat, pushed his aching bones to rise, walked back to the castle to find Draco and tell him that he didn’t forgive him, not yet, but he understood. Only, Draco hadn’t been there.

It had taken an embarrassingly long time for him to remember the map. But when he’d seen Draco’s name, still atop the astronomy tower, but flickering in a way he’d never seen before…

He’d realized. It didn’t matter, what Draco had done. Harry _loved_ him.

He’d rushed back there as fast as he could, skidded to a halt and clapped his hand over his mouth. Because there was Draco - crumpled on the tower stones, covered in a thin dusting of snow, hand out-flung toward the blood-red rose and potion bottle with one glistening drop still clinging to the rim.

And for a moment he’d stood rooted to the spot.

Because they’d only just finished working on that damn suicide scene for the play. And at first he’d thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

But then he’d realized that, no. It was real.

He’d snatched the bottle and rose, grabbed Draco’s shoulder, and apparated straight to the hospital wing, anti-apparition wards be damned.

Bones had started scolding him about dragon pox and the meaning of ‘quarantine,’ but he’d ignored her, shouting for Madam Pomfrey. She’d come bustling over, dispatched Bones back to her third-years, and enlisted Harry’s help as she’d worked tirelessly to rescue Draco.

Draco whimpered again in his sleep, and Harry stroked his hair, leaned down to whisper soothing nothings in his ear.

He was never letting him go again.

* * *

_March, 2018_

After a few weeks, Madam Pomfrey started hinting that it was time to think about moving back to their rooms.

After a few more, she kicked them out with strict orders to stay out for the rest of the year. Harry might have been worried, if he hadn’t seen the smile she’d been hiding escape as she turned away.

They didn’t quite know what to do with themselves, and all too soon were faced with the terrifying prospect of parting ways.

But, it wasn’t all that bad, really. Draco knocked on his door within the hour, asking if he wanted to maybe go for a walk outside, “since you’re the self-appointed guardian of my welfare, Potter, you’d damned well better guard it.”

Harry hid a smile and accompanied him outside.

They fell into a routine, soon enough, and eased back into teaching.

Things were the same as they had been, and at the same time completely foreign.

* * *

Harry showed up at Draco’s door one evening in mid-March with a picnic basket slung over one arm.

“What’s this?” Draco asked, confused, when he opened the door.

“Surprise,” Harry answered. “Come on.”

“What if I have plans?”

“You don’t.” Some of the confidence bled out of him. “Do you?”

Draco snorted. “No. Fine. Just - one second.” He reached around the door and grabbed his scarf - green cashmere, of course - wrapping it firmly around his neck. “All right, I’m ready. Where are we going?”

“Surprise,” Harry answered smugly.

Draco sighed. “I’m not sure I like surprises.”

Harry grinned. “You’ll like this one. Come _on.”_

Draco went.

Harry led him, bouncing like a puppy, down to the lake and then around to the far side, where a large rock jutted out into the water.

Draco stopped short. “Harry…”

Harry smiled, a lopsided grin that was smug and anxious all at once. “Surprise.”

Draco didn’t respond, and Harry felt the grin slipping off his face. He turned quickly to rummage in the basket, hiding his face. “Here, I brought your favorite sandwiches, and there’s some butterbeer in here somewhere, and —“

Draco put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn. “Harry.”

Harry looked up into his face, biting his lip anxiously. “I hoped… Since this was where we had our first real date, before, I thought you might like to… I’m sorry. I didn’t think —“

Draco leaned in and kissed him, cutting off the flow of words. “Harry,” he said, when he pulled away from a fiercely blushing Harry - they hadn’t kissed yet, not really - “it’s perfect. Thank you.”

After they’d eaten the sandwiches, and drank the butterbeer, and were watching the moon rise over the dark waters of the lake, Draco turned to him. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“You’re such a sap.” Draco shoved him playfully in the shoulder, and Harry shoved him back, and then Draco tickled him - using his longer arms to get an unfair edge - and they both fell back on the blanket they’d spread on the ground, laughing.

“Draco?” Harry said, after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“So are you.”

* * *

_April, 2018_

After that it was easy - almost too easy - to fall back into the relationship Harry now remembered. They sat together at meals, went on dates to Hogsmeade, had picnics by the lake…

* * *

“Y’know, Draco?” Harry asked, one lazy Saturday afternoon in April, as he reclined back on his elbows, staring out over the lake.

“Hmm?” Draco looked up from the book he’d been skimming.

“Now that I have my memories back…”

Draco flinched, and Harry sighed internally. They were really going to have to work on that. But, they had time, now.

“Now that I have my memories back,” he repeated firmly, “and Madam Pomfrey’s decided you’re healthy again, there are a few… strenuous things, I’d quite like to try.”

Draco stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, and then threw his book at him.

Harry caught it, laughing, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Bloody seeker reflexes.”

Harry set the book aside, turned on his side and propped his head on his hand so he could better appreciate Draco’s lithe form, stretched out on the blanket beside him. “You know what else seekers are?”

Draco eyed him suspiciously. “No…?”

Harry grinned widely at him. “Flexible,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco’s own eyebrows rose, and then he lunged toward Harry and tackled him, kissing him soundly.

“Just to shut you up, mind,” he said a bit breathlessly, when they parted for air.

Harry rolled his eyes and tugged Draco back down, smashing their lips together.

Someone wolf-whistled, and Harry peered over Draco’s shoulder to see Ginny striding toward them. He flipped her off, then pointedly ignored her and went back to kissing Draco - until she dumped a handful of grass and leaves over their heads.

“Gin!” he exclaimed, annoyed, and she grinned at him, unrepentant.

“Sorry, Harry, but you’re meant to be rehearsing with us. Remember?”

“Can’t I just —“

“No,” she said firmly, grabbing his arm and tugging him to his feet. “Now come on. You too, Draco.”

* * *

_May, 2018_

One night, as they returned to their rooms, laughing, from rehearsals with the girls and kids, Harry found himself wishing for their room in the hospital wing. He didn’t even care that it was another cupboard - it was _theirs_ , his and Draco’s, and that made all the difference in the world.

They reached their doors too soon, and parted ways awkwardly. Harry stepped into his room, frowned at the far wall for a moment, and then turned and went right back out again. Seconds later, Draco stepped into the corridor, looking just as confused as Harry felt.

“Harry…” he said slowly.

“Yes?”

“There’s a door in my room.”

Harry just looked at him. Draco huffed, grabbed Harry’s arm, and dragged him into his room, jabbing his finger toward the far wall. “Harry! _Why_ is there a door in my room?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. There’s one in mine too.”

“But… what do we do?” Draco looked so genuinely puzzled, Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Open it, I suppose.”

Draco snorted. “Oh, yes. _There’s_ that Gryffindor brat I used to know. I knew he was in there somewhere.”

“Draco.”

“Harry?”

“Shut up and open the damn door.”

Draco opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, and then sighed and stepped forward to suspiciously open the door.

Inside was… Harry’s room.

They both stared, flabbergasted.

And suddenly Harry remembered fervently wishing for their shared room in the hospital wing. He smiled.

Draco turned to stare searchingly into his eyes. “Harry James Potter! Is this - did you —“

Breaking off, he strode through Harry’s room and opened the door. Harry followed meekly behind, and they both stepped out into the corridor to once again face Draco’s door.

“Potter! How the fuck did you manage that? They’re on opposite sides of the corridor!”

Harry shrugged. “Magic?”

Draco closed his eyes. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Of _that_ , Harry was utterly certain.

The corridor seemed to bulge for a second, and the stones _twisted_ around them, and then everything returned to normal.

Draco looked shakily up from where he’d buried his face in Harry’s neck. “Did you do that?”

Harry realizing that he was clutching Draco’s arm rather tightly, loosened his hold but didn’t let go, because, fuck, those walls didn’t seem quite so sturdy anymore. “Noooo,” he said slowly, “That wasn’t me.”

They both looked up, eyes drawn to the utterly blank stretch of wall before them.

“Harry?” Draco said slowly, “Where is my door?”

They turned, slowly, to read the nameplate by Harry’s door, which, thankfully, was still right where they’d left it. Only, now, it had both their names.

They opened the door together, swallowing, and were met with a larger suite of rooms than either had had before that was quite clearly meant to be shared.

“Harry…” Draco said softly.

“Draco.” Harry gently laced their fingers together. “I think the castle is trying to tell us something.”

* * *

They took Al and Scorpius out to lunch, the next day, to apologize for being so absent lately, and to break the news to them that they were seeing one another. They didn’t quite anticipate their sons’ reaction.

“Yes!” Al exclaimed, turning to high-five Scorpius. Scorpius grinned back at him. “Finally!”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Ginny and Astoria, who pulled up seats at their table, grinning madly.

“Guess who just got asked to return as full-time professors next year?” said Ginny.

“What about the Harpies?” Harry asked.

She waved her hand airily. “Oh, I was ready to leave professional quidditch anyway. I’m too old and slow.”

Draco snorted.

“Anyway,” Ginny said, I’d much rather teach art - I enjoyed it this term, and Nev’s hoping to expand the program next year. And he wants me to coach the quidditch teams, too, so I won’t have to give it up entirely.”

Harry smiled. “I’m happy for you Gin.”

“What about you?” Draco asked Astoria.

She grinned. “Nev asked me to come back, too - it’ll be nice to be done with temperamental models and designers. I much prefer working with kids.”

“Are all of you coming back?” Harry asked curiously.

“Not exactly,” Astoria said.

“They’ll be guest lecturing,” Ginny added. “Pansy and Hermione aren’t ready to give up their practice, but they’ve agreed to floo in for guest lectures. Nev even convinced ‘em to take on a couple of students as a combination of Independent Study and Law Interns.”

“Luna will drop in for periodic guest lectures in mythology, mythological and magical creatures, and dancing,” Astoria added, “and Blaise will do the same for fashion and design.”

“So,” Ginny said, “I take it you two have finally worked things out?”

“How did you —“

She grinned. “Our new room is just across the hall from yours.”

Harry felt himself blushing, but he was distracted by animated whispering across the table. Al turned excitedly to him. “So, Dad, where are we gonna live this summer when we’re not in school?”

“Yeah, Dad” Scorpius broke in, “are we gonna stay in the Manor? Or at Grimmauld Place?” Or at Mom’s?”

Harry shot Draco a panicked look, because _oops._ They hadn’t really planned that far ahead. Luckily, Ginny and Astoria swooped in - as usual - to rescue them.

“So, boys,” Ginny said. “We were thinking, since we’re going to be teaching here too —“

“It really doesn’t make sense for us to have three, or four, really, houses outside of Hogwarts,” Astoria continued. “That’s just ridiculous. So —“

“Why don’t we all get a place together?” Ginny finished.

They all stared at each other for a moment.

“What, _all_ of us?” Draco asked.

“ _All_ of us,” Ginny confirmed.

And it sounded… Harry smiled faintly. It sounded so bizarre, and so fucking perfect.

“We’re in,” he said, without realizing he spoke out loud. He quickly looked to Draco for confirmation, but Draco just shrugged, grinning.

“Fine by me,” he said.

“So, where shall we live, then?” Ginny asked.

Harry pictured her in the Manor and shuddered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco doing the same.

“Not the Manor,” Draco said firmly.

“No?” Astoria asked.

“No. It’s not a very good home, really.”

Ginny took Astoria’s hand. “I have an idea for it then.”

“Oh?”

“A Museum.”

Draco immediately agreed. Then he frowned. “Wait. Scorpius? Is that OK? Are you going to want to live there one day? Because it should be yours —“

“No,” Scorpius said firmly. “You’re right Dad. It’s nice, but… No. It’s not a home.”

Draco smiled at him. “So…”

“Not my house,” Ginny said, laughing. “It was too small even _without_ three more people.”

“Grimmauld Place?” Draco suggested.

Harry grimaced. “It’s…” He trailed off, at a loss for how to explain just how unsuitable it was.

“Harry,” Ginny said, “it was order headquarters for a while. Why not contact the Ministry, see if they want to make it a memorial?”

Draco made a face. “Surely we don’t want to make the Manor a War Museum? Voldemort’s Headquarters?”

Ginny shuddered. “No. Definitely not. Actually, I was thinking an art gallery.”

Harry thought of all the art he’d seen, the last time he’d been to the Manor. All the art that Astoria made. And Ginny. And Al and Scorpius. He smiled, and Draco smiled back at him. “Perfect.”

“So…” Scorpius said, “Where do we live?”

They stared at one another.

“What about the house we’re renting?” Astoria asked. “It’s got that library…”

They all sighed.

Harry snorted. “So long as you don’t mind ‘Mione spending half her time there.”

“And Pans,” Draco added.

* * *

_June, 2018_

And, later, in _their_ bed, in _their_ room, Harry lay beside a sleeping Draco and smiled.

Things weren’t perfect. But, really, was life ever _really_ perfect? They weren’t OK, not yet. But… he was starting to think that one day, they would be.

Oh, they were still spiky, and damaged, and broken. They still had trust issues, and trouble communicating, sometimes. They still had nightmares, far too often.

But they were both seeing mind healers - Madam Pomfrey had ordered it, with McGonagall’s backing - and it seemed to be helping.

And when Draco held Harry, when he woke shaking and whimpering, and when Harry held Draco, as he cried silent, hot tears, when they sat up all night, not saying a word, to avoid the demons of war that haunted their dreams, Harry could feel the old wounds slowly healing, and he held tight to hope.

They could still go instantly, without warning, hot, or cold, or both at once.

They both had so many triggers and jagged edges.

But.

The empty places in his heart were slowly filling, and for the first time he could imagine a future _not_ dominated by a war that neither of them had ever wanted to fight.


	51. Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is it, you guys! Well, except for the follow-up one-shots that I hope to get to between working on my novel next month for nanowrimo. Thank you again for reading and commenting and giving me the motivation to complete this ambitious project. I love you all! <3

_Friday, June 29, 2018_

Minerva McGonagall always got emotional on the last day of term, and this year was no exception. She’d had many years of practice at keeping her stoic mask in place, but, even so, she could feel it cracking on her face, pulling at the skin, like the heavily-caked stage-paint she’d worn in a play once, as a girl.

There was just something about the final day of term, full of endings, yes, but also the excitement of new beginnings. For the younger students, of spending summer vacation with their families and then returning to their friends a little older, a little taller; for the graduating 7th-years, the excitement of embarking on a new adventure, the whole world laid out before their eager feet; and, this year, for Minerva herself, standing at the threshold of a door marked “retirement” but still not quite sure she was ready to walk through it.

She smiled as she looked out over the Great Hall - packed like never before, with the parents of nearly every student involved in Neville’s crazy Muggle Art Appreciation scheme. They were putting on the play tonight, before the End of Term Banquet, and the mood in the room was full of a jittery, bouncy anticipation. She caught Neville’s eye as he entered the room, and offered him a congratulatory smile. Even if the play turned out to be a complete disaster, she was willing to concede his experiment a success. He grinned back at her, shooting her a quick thumb’s up, then strode to the podium in the center of the stage - the Great Hall having obliged him by rearranging itself that afternoon - and clapped his hands for silence.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else,” he began, “Students, professors, parents, staff - family and friends of Hogwarts - I am delighted to have you all here this evening. This is an historic occasion for this school, and this Headmaster. Without further ado, let me introduce to you the wonderful professors of this term’s pilot Muggle Art Appreciation program - the first of its kind, I believe, in a Wizarding institution such as this. May I present: Ginny Potter, nee Weasley, Astoria Malfoy, nee Greengrass, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and the incomparable Luna Lovegood.”

The audience cheered as they stood and waved, and then Ginny ran up and whispered in his ear, and he turned back to the microphone, grinning. “I have been informed,” he said, “that our very own Professors Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were instrumental in getting this project off the ground.” He winked at her. “Would you boys come up here, please?”

They did, hand in hand, with much eye-rolling and identical wide grins.

Neville beamed at them. “I am also pleased to announce that Ginny and Astoria have accepted full Professor positions for next year, and that the others will be joining us frequently for seminars and guest lectures. And, now, without further ado, I will hand the microphone off to Professor… should I call you Potter or Weasley?”

She grinned. “Well, Potter would just confuse things, wouldn’t it? I’ll answer to Professor Weasley, I suppose. Tori?”

Astoria nodded at her. “Good thinking, Gin. I’ll be Professor Greengrass, Headmaster, to avoid similar name confusion.”

“Excellent. Professor Weasley, everyone.”

Ginny accepted the microphone and bounced across the stage, holding it up and waving enthusiastically at the crowd. “Hi guys! My name’s Ginny, and I - and my fellow Muggle Art Appreciation professors - are thrilled to welcome you to Hogwarts’ first production of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet! But first —“ she glanced over at the others, who nodded. “First I think Harry would like to say a few words.”

Everyone leaned in, intent to hear what the famous former-recluse Harry Potter had to say. Minerva smiled as he walked forward to take the microphone. He looked so happy and relaxed, now, finally.

“Hello everyone,” Harry said. “I’m notoriously bad at speeches, so rest assured that I won’t be making one. I only wanted to say - and I know I speak for all of us here on stage - that there is one person in this school who has always embodied for us the spirit of Hogwarts, and we’d like to dedicate tonight’s performance to her.

Then his eyes sought hers and held, and she drew in a breath.

“Minerva McGonagall,” he said, green eyes intense and sparkling, effortlessly holding her captive even from up on the stage, “you are the linchpin of this school, the glue that holds Hogwarts together. We can’t imagine it without you, and yet it would be unfair of us to expect you to continue to teach forever. So, from all of us, thank you for everything - all the lessons, all the wisdom, all the courage and kindness. You’ve saved all of our lives, time and again, and we love you. We just wanted you to know.”

And everyone - _everyone_ \- in the Great Hall, from the first-years to the seventh-years to their parents and grandparents, stood and cheered.

And Minerva sat, stunned, _floored_ with the realization that it was all worth it. Every detention, every lesson, every late night, every tear, every hour of lost sleep and every headache. It was all worth it.

Harry handed the microphone to Ginny, who was wiping away tears, and leapt easily off the stage, loping down the aisle to where Minerva sat and pulling her into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear, “for everything.”

She patted his back awkwardly, feeling lost and completely overwhelmed. Then he stepped back, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, and Ginny rushed to take his place. They all hugged her, even Blaise, who dipped her dramatically, to the laughter of everyone in the hall. When he set her back on her feet, with a kiss on her cheek and a heartfelt whisper of “thanks,” she felt her mask crumble just a little bit more.

And then Draco, who’d hung back from the others, stepped up and hugged her awkwardly. She felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, and hoped she could exert enough force of will to prevent them from falling. She gave him a tiny smile and said “I knew you had it in you, Mister Malfoy.” Then, quietly, right in his ear, she whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Draco.”

It was the first time she’d ever called him Draco, in the nearly three decades she’d known him, and she wasn’t sure he would notice, or understand the significance.

But his eyes were suspiciously bright, and his hug turned from tentative to fierce, and his voice cracked when he whispered back, “Thank you.”

And she remembered that he’d had to grow up far too fast, just like the rest of them, and that he’d lost his mother and father right after the war - who, for all their faults, had certainly loved him. And she remembered, too, the story Ginny and Astoria had told her, that day in Neville’s office a few weeks before, of how he’d broken his own heart to save the world from Voldemort, even though he thought he was the only one who would ever know.

And she _knew_ that he understood and appreciated the kindnesses she’d shown him - all of them - over the years, and she made a mental note to stop by the Headmaster’s office on her way out that night and tell Severus and Albus that they were right about the scared, posturing little boy all along.

And as she watched Draco walk away, fingers firmly, unapologetically twined with Harry’s, she realized that, for the first time since that horrible night when she and Albus had left an infant Harry on that doorstep on Privet drive, she didn’t need to worry about him anymore.

It was astonishing, really, how much lighter she felt, once she realized that.

* * *

The play was a success, of course. Neville cheered and whistled and threw kernels of the muggle popcorn he’d insisted they serve, and was embarrassingly enthusiastic throughout it, and Minerva felt like sinking into her seat. She wondered why she’d agreed to sit with him - she should have known, really.

Tilly Leatherwood, as a dazzlingly flamboyant Mercutio, stole the show - to absolutely no one’s surprise. Quiet Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy were positively radiant as Romeo and Juliet, and Harry and Draco applauded them loudest of all.

The Weasley Clan all showed up for the play, bringing Lily Potter - who’d be attending Hogwarts with her brothers next year - with them. Molly gave James a dressing-down when he tried to set off some Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes fireworks - after the play was done, thank Merlin - dragging him off by his ear to pack for a summer with her and Arthur, to the amusement of all and secret relief of McGonagall. That boy was trouble, and Molly Weasley was the _only_ person she could think of who could possibly get through to him. He was James Potter, Sr. all over again, and she was far, far too old for this.

Neville shook every student’s hand, once the play was finished, and they’d all gathered to take their bows - the actors and musicians and designers, the stage hands and lighting techs and makeup artists. He pumped their hands energetically, clapped them on the back, and offered them bits of leftover popcorn that he plucked out of his beard.

Minerva caught herself thinking wistfully of Albus Dumbledore, and decided that, after all, it was high time she retired. Because it was suddenly, painfully obvious that, no matter what she found on the other side of that door, Hogwarts would always be there to welcome her home. And with that realization, Minerva let the last ties of responsibility go. Her students had grown up, and were doing beautifully. They didn’t need her anymore; she was free to find her next adventure.

_~The End~_


	52. APPENDIX A - INDEX OF SPELLS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list of the spells used in this fic, (and some I considered but didn't end up using) with a short summary of each, categorized by effect. Includes those already existing in the books, movies, video games, etc, and those I invented specifically for the needs of this fic (with some help from the fabulous Drarry tumblr chat members, especially @owlswithfins, @sodaine, and @jumdaehyun). Um. In case anybody is interested? Possibly helpful if you were confused about something during the duel? (All those spells are included here).

**APPENDIX A - List of spells used in (and considered for) this fic, categorized by effect produced. Starred (*) spells were invented for this fic.**

  * Restore Memory  

    * Memento*  

      * *Invented for this story
      * Counter to Obliviate
      * when used by same witch or wizard who cast the original obliviate, restores the memories that have been suppressed
  * Move Objects
    * Wingardium Leviosa 
      * Levitates, moves, manipulates target
    * Waddiwasi 
      * Launch small objects through air (only used on chewing gum)
    * Teleportation Spell 
      * Vanishes objects; reappear elsewhere
    * Ventus 
      * Blast of wind from wand; push objects out of the way
      * Ventus duo: stronger
    * Locomotor 
      * Used with name of target to move
    * Descendo 
      * Makes object move downwards
    * Mobiliarbus 
      * Levitates & moves object
    * Hover Charm 
      * Target floats in mid-air briefly
    * Depulso (banishing) 
      * Makes target fly toward specific location
      * Opposite of summoning
    * Accio (summoning) 
      * Used with name of target to summon
    * Carpe retractum (seize and pull) 
      * Rope produced from wand to pull target toward caster



 

  * Resize Objects
    * Reducio (shrinking) 
      * Makes enlarged object smaller
      * Counter to engorgio
    * Inflatus 
      * Inflates objects (living or dead)
    * Diminuendo 
      * Shrinks target
    * Engorgio 
      * Makes target swell



 

  * Explode / Break Objects
    * Reducto 
      * Breaks objects; disintigrates in stronger uses
    * Smashing Spell 
      * explosions
    * Deletrius 
      * disintigrates
    * Deprimo 
      * Immense downward pressure -> violent fracturing of object
    * Diffindo (severing) 
      * Rips, tears, shreds, physically damages target
    * Expulso 
      * Explosion (pressure not heat)
    * Bombarda 
      * Small explosion
      * Bombarda maxima 
        * Large explosion, ie on wall
      * Confringo (blasting curse) 
        * Explode anything it comes in contact with
      * Cracker jinx 
        * Conjure exploding wizard crackers
        * Can be used in dueling, but force of explosion may also affect caster
      * Defodio (gouging) 
        * Gouge large chunks out of target (ie wall)



 

  * Change properties of object
    * Glisseo 
      * Stairs -> slide
    * Glacius (freezing) 
      * Transforms to ice
      * Duo and tria : more powerful
    * Gripping charm 
      * Grip more effectively
    * Epoximise 
      * Glue objects together
    * Featherlight charm 
      * Makes lightweight
    * Cushioning charm 
      * Invisible cushion over target
    * Spongify (softening charm) 
      * Softens target area or object
      * Makes rubbery and bouncy



 

  * Transfigure / Conjure Animals
    * Serpensortia (snake summons) 
      * Transfiguration spell; conjures snake from wand
      * Used by draco on harry (who used parseltongue to counter)
    * Lapifors 
      * Objects to rabbits
    * Draconifors 
      * Objects to dragon
    * Ducklifors 
      * Objects to duck
    * Entomorphis 
      * Object to insect short-term
    * Avifors 
      * Object to bird
    * Avis 
      * Conjure flock of birds



 

  * Transfigure / Conjure Objects
    * Geminio 
      * Identical, useless copy of target
    * Inanimatus conjurus 
      * Conjure inanimate object
    * Baubillious 
      * Maybe what flitwick used to decorate xmas trees?
      * Bolt of white light on tip of wand when used
      * Conjure / place objects?
    * Vera Verto 
      * Animal -> goblet



 

  * Vanish Object / Animal
    * Vipera evanesca 
      * Counter to serpensortia
    * Evanesce 
      * vanish
    * Evanesco 
      * vanish
    * Orbis 
      * Sucks target into ground



 

  * Stop animals (and people?)
    * Immobulus (freezing) 
      * Renders living targets immobile



 

  * Hide
    * Obscuro Vera* 
      * *Invented for this story
      * Obscures reality; makes it difficult to distinguish from illusion / imagination
    * Obscuro 
      * Blindfold over eyes
    * Fumos (smokescreen) 
      * Defensive cloud of dark grey smoke
      * Fumos duo: more powerful
    * Disillusionment (chameleon) 
      * Blend target with surroundings
    * Bedazzling hex 
      * Used to conceal?
      * On invisibility cloaks with chameleon charm
    * Confundo 
      * Confuse & befuddle



 

  * Reveal
    * Homenum revelio (people) 
      * Reveals human presence
    * Homorphus charm (transfigured/animagus) 
      * Force animagus or transfigured object to assume normal shape



 

  * Make People Drop Objects
    * Expelliarmus (disarming) 
      * Whatever victim is holding flies away
      * Can knock out if used too forcefully
      * Harry’s specialty
    * Drelashio 
      * Makes subject release whatever it is holding or hiding



 

  * Silly Things to do to People
    * Langlock 
      * Glues tongue to roof of mouth
    * Rictusempra (tickling charm) 
      * Extreme tickling sensation
      * Makes Draco drop to floor laughing
    * Slugulus eructo (slug-vomiting) 
      * Jet of green light
      * Vomit slugs
      * Used by ron on draco - but backfired
    * Steleus 
      * Make victim sneeze for brief time
      * Used to distract opponent
    * Tarantallegra (dancing feet) 
      * Makes victim’s legs dance uncontrollably
    * Titlillando (tickling hex) 
      * Tickles & weakens
    * Locomotor wibbly (jelly-legs curse)
    * Jelly fingers curse 
      * Fingers -> jelly-like so hard to grasp objects
    * Cheering charm 
      * Heavy-handedness -> laughing fit



 

  * Stop People
    * Incarcerus 
      * Tie up with ropes
    * Stupefy (stunning) 
      * Too forcefully -> knocks unconcsious
    * Trip jinx 
      * Used by harry on draco
    * Locomotor mortis (leg-locker curse) 
      * Locks legs together -> can’t move
    * Petrificus totalis (full body bind) 
      * Temporarily bind body
    * Impedimenta 
      * Impede progress toward caster
    * Arresto momentum (or object) 
      * Slow object or individual
    * Colloshoo 
      * Adheres victim’s shoes to ground



 

  * Move People
    * Levicorpus 
      * Victim dangled upside-down by ankles
      * Sometimes accompanied by flash of light
      * Non-verbal only
      * Counter: liberacorpus
    * Mobilicorpus 
      * Levitates & moves bodies
    * Flipendo 
      * Pushes target; knocks out weaker enemies
      * Flipendo tria: more powerful (resemble miniature tornado)
    * Everte statum 
      * Throws victim backward



 

  * Harm People
    * Sectumsempra 
      * Dark; large, blood-oozing gashes
      * Snape’s signature spell
    * Stinging hex
    * Bat Bogey Hex 
      * Ginnys signature spell
      * Makes target’s bogies attack them



 

  * Heal People
    * Reparifors 
      * Reverts minor magically-induced ailments, such as paralysis and poisoning
    * Rennervate 
      * Revives stunned person
    * Vulnera Sanentur 
      * Heals wounds & gashes
      * Counter to sectumsempra
    * Episkey 
      * Heal minor injuries
    * Ferula 
      * Create bandage and splint



 

  * Attack
    * Oppugno (animal) 
      * Causes animals or beings of lesser intelligence to attack
    * Piertotum locomotor 
      * Used to animate statues / suits of armor to do caster’s bidding
    * Locomotor (object) 
      * Used with name of target
      * Move object
    * Homing spell 
      * Follow target with constant speed (offensive)
    * Hurling hex (brooms) 
      * Broom vibrates violently & tries to buck rider off



 

  * Shield
    * Protego (shield charm) 
      * Minor to moderate jinxes, curses, hexes rebound upon attacker
    * Protego horribilis 
      * Powerful shield against dark magic
    * Protego maxima 
      * Stronger and bigger than protego
    * Protego totalum 
      * Shield charm over small area that nothing but unforgiveables can get through
    * Impervius 
      * Repel substances & outside forces like water
    * Fianto duri 
      * Defensive; strengthens shield spells



 

  * End Spell
    * Finite 
      * Terminates spell effects in vicinity of caster
    * Finite incantatum (general counter-spell) 
      * Terminates all spell effects in vicinity of caster



 

  * Fire
    * Hot-air charm 
      * Wand emits hot air
    * Scorching spell 
      * Dancing flames - presumably scorch opponent
    * Incendio 
      * Produces fire
      * Incendio duo & tria: stronger
    * Lacarnum inflamarae 
      * Ball of fire from wand
    * Firestorm 
      * Ring of fire from wand; can strike targets
    * Extinguishing spell 
      * Puts out fires



 

  * Water
    * Drought 
      * Dries up puddles/ponds
    * Aguamenti 
      * Conjures stream of water
    * Aqua eructo 
      * Conjures stream of water




	53. APPENDIX B - 2017 HOGWARTS SCHOOL CALENDAR (TEXT VERSION)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts School Calendar for the 2017 school year. Includes breaks, exams, Hogsmeade days, quidditch matches, and where each chapter falls. Will be updated as more chapters are written/finalized.
> 
> You can find the Hogwarts School Calendar (a gmail calendar - this is much easier to read in calendar format) on my tumblr: http://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/19years

• **July 2017**

**_\- 30 (Monday)_ **

\- Neville's 37th Birthday

**_\- 31 (Tuesday)_ **

\- Harry's 37th Birthday

• **August 2017**

**_\- 11 (Saturday)_ **

\- Ginny's 36th Birthday

• **September 2017**

**_\- 1 (Friday)_ **

\- Hogwarts Fall Term Starts; Students Arrive via Hogwarts Express; Welcoming Feast and Sorting

\- Chapters 1, 3-7

**_\- 4 (Monday)_ **

\- Chapters 8, 9

_**\- 8 (Friday)** _

\- Chapter 10

_**\- 15 (Friday)** _

\- Chapter 11

_**\- 19 (Tuesday)** _

\- Hermione's 38th Birthday

_**\- 23 (Saturday)** _

\- First Hogsmeade Weekend

\- Chapter 12

_**\- 25 (Monday)** _

\- Chapters 13, 14

_**\- 26 (Tuesday)** _

\- Chapter 15

_**\- 27-28 (Wednesday-Thursday)** _

\- Chapter 16

_**\- 28-29 (Thursday-Friday)** _

\- Chapter 17

_**\- 30 (Saturday)** _

\- Chapter 18

• **October 2017**

_**\- 4 (Wednesday)** _

\- McGonagall's 71st Birthday

_**\- 5-6 (Thursday-Friday)** _

\- Chapter 19

**_\- 7 (Saturday)_ **

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

\- Chapter 20

_**\- 8 (Sunday)** _

\- Chapter 21

_**\- 13 (Friday)** _

\- Chapters 22-25

_**\- 14 (Saturday)** _

\- Chapters 26, 27

_**\- 15 (Sunday)** _

\- Chapter 28

_**\- 16-26 (Monday-Thursday week)** _

\- Chapter 29

_**\- 21 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 27 (Friday)** _

\- Chapter 30

_**\- 27-November 9 (Friday-Thursday)** _

\- Chapters 31, 32

_**\- 28-31 (Saturday-Tuesday)** _

\- Fall half-term break

_**\- 31 (Tuesday)** _

\- Halloween Feast

\- Chapter 33

• **November 2017**

_**\- 1 (Wednesday)** _

\- Classes resume

_**\- 4 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

\- Chapter 34

_**\- 10 (Friday)** _

\- 1st Quidditch Match (Gryffindor vs. Slytherin)

_**\- 16-17 (Thursday-Friday)** _

\- Chapter 35

_**\- 18 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

\- Chapter 36

\- Chapter 37

\- Chapter 38

_**\- 18-19 (Saturday-Sunday)** _

\- Chapter 39

_**\- 24-25 (Friday-Saturday)** _

\- Chapter 40

_**\- 26-December 1 (Sunday-Friday)** _

\- Chapter 41

• **December 2017**

_**\- 1 (Friday)** _

\- 2nd Quidditch Match (Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw)

_**\- 1-16 (Friday-Saturday)** _

\- Chapter 42

_**\- 2 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 16 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 16-Jan1 (Saturday-Monday)** _

\- Chapter 43

_**\- 23- Jan7 (Saturday-Sunday)** _

\- Christmas Break

**_\- 26- Jan11 (Tuesday-Thursday)_ **

\- Chapter 44

•  ** January 2018 **

**_\- 8 (Monday)_ **

\- First day Spring Term

_**\- 11 (Thursday)** _

\- Chapter 45

_**\- 12-Feb14 (Friday-Wednesday)** _

\- Chapter 46

**_\- 20 (Saturday)_ **

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 26 (Friday)** _

\- 3rd Quidditch Match (Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin)

• **February 2018**

_**\- 3 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

**_\- 14 (Wednesday)_ **

\- Valentine's Day

\- Chapter 47

\- Chapter 48

_**\- 15-18 (Thursday-Sunday)** _

\- Half-term Break

_**\- 17 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

**_\- 19 (Monday)_ **

\- Classes resume

**_\- 22-23 (Thursday-Friday)_ **

\- Chapter 49

**\- 24-June28 (Saturday-Thursday)**

\- Chapter 50

• **March 2018**

_**\- 2 (Friday)** _

\- 4th Quidditch Match (Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff)

_**\- 3 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

• **April 2018**

_**\- 2-10 (Monday-Tuesday week)** _

\- Easter Holidays

_**\- 7 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 21 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

• **May 2018**

_**\- 4 (Friday)** _

\- 5th Quidditch Match (Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin)

_**\- 5 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 19 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

**_\- 25 (Friday)_ **

\- 6th Quidditch Match (Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw)

• **June 2018**

_**\- 2 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 4-15 (Monday-Friday week)** _

\- NEWTS, OWLS

_**\- 4-8 (Monday-Friday)** _

\- FINAL EXAMS

_**\- 5 (Tuesday)** _

\- Draco's 38th Birthday

_**\- 16 (Saturday)** _

\- Hogsmeade Weekend

_**\- 29 (Friday)** _

\- End of Term

\- End of Term Feast

\- Chapter 51

_**\- 30-August 31 (Saturday-Friday)** _

\- Summer Break

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](https://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/)


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